


An Error in the Ledgers

by Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 86,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola/pseuds/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the meeting, in the middle of a sentence, Kimmuriel turned in his seat to look at her, the bespectacled little mathematician incongruous to their dark business. Plucked out of a sunlit bakery by Jarlaxle’s knack for sussing out profitable partners, her acumen catches Jarlaxle’s eye, but it is something else which has occupied his lieutenant. Jarlaxle/OC Kimmuriel/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An Error in the Ledgers

Chapter 1

In a dimpled valley between green hills was tucked a pretty little town. The town was rather well cared for as towns go. The streets were well paved with the large cream colored stones found around the brook that had imparted the town with the accurate if not terribly imaginative name, Brooksong. The houses were neatly thatched with goldenrod straw and the buildings were, for the most part, promptly repaired when they became frayed. 

The inhabitants of Brooksong were rather proud of their kept and cleaned town. They had made their hedges straight and made sure to learn the names and habits of all of their neighbors. It was far enough from any coast to keep vagabonds from accumulating and an unyielding habit of cold shouldering establishments of ill repute kept the town free of too frequent misadventure. 

Inside this town lived a very old man, Rheffus Eleanor, although he hadn’t been called Rheffus since his wife had passed in the decade prior, though even she had not called him that often, preferring the more descriptive, Fussy. He was only Eleanor to anybody else. This old man, who stooped when he walked and could never quite shake the tremor from his hands nor entirely stop coughing, owned a small store in what had once been on Brooksong’s main street. 

It wasn’t any longer, the town being tucked against a hill they had expanded only to the south. The main thoroughfare had following, and the bustling of shoppers and people going about regular business usually missed Eleanor’s little store. The store itself didn’t have a name. If Eleanor were to be asked, he would wonder patronizingly why the only store of its kind in a little town would need a name. 

Although Eleanor perhaps had quieter reasons than that to pull down the beautifully painted sign from the front of his shop. Though to be more accurate, to pay good strong boys to pull the sign down. He was far too old to do any sort of destruction of the physical kind. But he was right about it being the only one of its kind. Eleanor’s unnamed little store sold books. 

Now, books were generally expensive in this sort of town and Brooksong was not an exception. And Eleanor did not stock the cheap serial sort of thing people might gamble about on the street. He was quick to tell an inquirer that this sort of rag was trite, and not worth the coppers it cost. More than that, Eleanor was a smart little man and knew if he stocked those cheap and popular little serials people would be jostling in and out of his store all the time. Perhaps even having their eye caught on a more solid and expensive books they had no idea they were interested in. Perhaps even walking out with their pockets lighter and their arms full of new tomes. Eleanor could imagine nothing worse.  
The shelves of his store were his life work. He sold a copy occasionally when he had little coin left for the meager rations he gnawed at with aging teeth and once a year he sold something good to buy a particularly colorful bouquet of flowers. But mostly he glowered until people left, when any came at all. He liked sitting in his book shop and looking at the mostly full shelves. He liked drinking a strong cup of tea and smelling the pages. And he thought that if it were just him and just in the evening of his life, he might just sit in his shop and drink his tea and smell his books as he liked. 

Eleanor did, however, have a single someone whom he would count as a friend, being the last one left after he had so foolishly outlived everyone of his own age. She, of course, had not been a friend of his though his many years, she was a new social acquisition. She had not grown up in town, as anyone with more than a bit of fluff between their ears might guess, looking at her pointed ears and light step. But Eleanor liked her just the same. 

He had not thought that he would, when she moved her few belongings into the small room across the street from his shop. Most elves he had known were haughty and vain, or at least that is what Eleanor saw in them. But she liked his books. He let her borrow them and she read them and then, having brought him a cupcake or muffin or croissant, would drink tea with him and tell him thoughts about his books that had never condensed for him in all his readings of them. 

The little elf, he didn’t know if she was just small for humans or small for her kind as well, worked as an assistant at a very cute bakery that was doing very well on the main street. He had only been inside her bakery once. He didn’t much mind that she was not the owner, he would go right on calling it her bakery. It was called Cupcake, and was decorated in all manner of pastel colors and floral arrangements. 

She worked mostly in an undirtied apron of pretty colors bringing multicolored cupcakes to the establishment’s patrons, rather than in the back making any sort of pastry. She wasn’t especially good at making pastries but she was quite good as serenely smiling at patrons and remembering the names and preferences of regulars. Extraordinarily good, really. A person needed only to go in once and she would remember any detail that person were to drop. She would recall if they didn’t much care for nuts, or had a particular fondness for apple tarts, or perhaps if a person quite liked the seat by the door that got the most sun, or the little table tucked in the corner that was never jostled. 

Most days, when she finished her work, Eleanor would see her walking back up the street toward her little room and he’d put a mark in the book he was working on and put on a kettle. Just as the kettle would start to sing, she would come through his door, the bell above it tinkling as she entered. She usually brought him something to eat, although it could never properly be called dinner. 

She was not pretty enough and he was not young enough, for her visits to garner any attention from the neighbors. This suited the both of them, who kept each other awake into the small hours discussing whatever book he had allowed her to go home with a few days before. 

It was the prospect of this sort of evening that Eleanor was rather looking forward too, although it was many hours away. Soon he would find something for lunch then busy himself in a book to pass the time before evening.

Eleanor did not know, for how could he, that he would not be seeing the bookish little elf that evening, nor any other evening again.

But just then, in the first hours of her shift, as unawares of the change in her future as poor Eleanor, the small elf affixed a name plate saying ‘Tega’ to her blouse and tied a pale pink apron around her waist.

The patrons of Cupcake were quite fond of little Tega, despite their reluctance to really like any elf. She was quite a bit more plain that the other elves that had come across the town. She didn’t possess the other worldliness of most elves, which was perhaps her lack of that ethereal beauty common to her race. Few, especially among humans, would call her unbecoming, but hers was an earthier prettiness that came hair the shade of oatmeal and soft brown eyes. For one of her race, she was quite plain, but that mattered little to the people of Brooksong.

She could not be called introverted, nor shy. But she had about her a steadiness and soft spoken nature that endeared her to the inhabitants of the town. It was these qualities that kept her employed. 

On this particularly sunny morning, around eleven o’clock, Tega was quite ready to meet the day. Her hair, which refused to decide if it was straight or wavy, was pinned behind her ears. She kept her hair cut short, only long enough to pin her bangs out of her brown eyes. She didn’t like keeping her hair long, when it wasn’t so short it got stuck on the hinges of her little brass spectacles. The spectacles were round and well kept, though not new, and they balanced precariously on her thin nose. It was through these spectacles that she saw just how horribly her unfortunate morning was going to be. 

It had started so well too. She had woken up early, and nearly made it through her newly borrowed book on the little porch of her rented building before she tidied herself up to come to work. She was even wearing her favorite skirt. It was yellow and pleated around her knees. Yellow didn’t really suit her, but she was very fond of it. 

She would have liked to live in a world where if you were not quite through a book you really liked and if you were wearing a skirt that you very much liked to twirl in, and if the sun were coming so picturesquely through the large windows overlooking the bakery’s spindly cafe tables and chairs, that nothing too terrible could ever come upon you.

Of course, she knew that horrible things didn’t care if you were right in the middle of a very nice day, they were simply horrible. 

She had seen the impending disaster when she turned back to heed the bell tinkling that announced a new visitor. She had been leaning in the swinging door separating the bakery’s colorful front and industrious back and laughing quietly at the shouted commentary between the baker and the baker’s teenaged daughter. She she turned she hoped the patron would be Mrs. Trundle, who was nearly six months pregnant and very fond of anything made with peaches, of which there was a new cobbler. But it was not a pink cheeked, round bellied, almost mother. 

Tega’s teeth clicked shut and each of the muscles in her stomach gripped her organs tightly. She felt very cold. She wanted to compulsively take off her spectacles and clean them, but she did not. Standing in the sun dappled bakery with a wide and glimmering smile was a black skinned drow. Behind him lurked a second, though this one was not smiling, but looking dour and harassed. 

Tega was not well versed in the fashions of the Underdark, but she thought she could assume safely that the smiling drow did not heed them. His head was shaved entirely and a glittering eyepatch covered one of his eyes, his right. He was bedecked in all manner of tinkling jewelry and covered only in tight fitting leather pants and a high cut vest with nothing underneath. This particular choice revealed the entirety of his abdomen and nearly all but a small portion of his chest. Tega tugged at the hem of her snugly fit, cream colored sweater as she tried not to shiver. 

The drow behind him did not share in his companion’s tastes. His long hair was carefully brushed and gleamingly white. He wore long, dark robes that concealed nearly his entire body. Tega flitted her eyes between details of their clothes and hair, looking anywhere but their skin.

Tega’s fingernails bit into her hand. She was inclined to scramble over the counter and flee, but a particularly well cultivated virtue of hers was level headedness. If they were planning a raid and had a hundred other drow waiting in the wings, there would be nothing for it and escaping these two might only make her a target. If they were not, it was perhaps best to keep them quite happy and hope they went away. She had no illusions about fighting passed them. If there were only one drow and he were blind, unarmed, and had only the use of one of his arms and neither of his legs, she probably couldn’t fight passed him. 

She returned the smile of the glittering drow only a little timidly. His smile broadened. If there was something she was not going to do, it was quake and shiver in front of them, that too, she thought might draw the attention of their violence. 

She focused for a moment and addressed him with an unquavering voice, “Can I get you anything?” She even managed to maintain her smile. 

He beamed grandly at her, “Yes,” he said emotively and pointed down at a cupcake with decadent pink frosting, “That.” 

With twinkling eyes, he looked back at his companion, “Kimmuriel, vel’bol xun dos ssinssrin?” Tega didn’t know the drow language but the unsmiling one didn’t reply and scowled deeply at his companion.

Moving with purposeful slowness, Tega fetched the cupcake he had selected and put it on a yellow patterned plate alongside a fork. She straightened and reached across the counter, proffering the plate to him, he took it and dropped and entire gold piece into her hand. Each of his fingers was encrusted with a gem encrusted ring. 

He turned with a flourish and settled himself into the most sun drenched of all the sun drenched tables, his companion, Kimmuriel, Tega had thought she had heard him called, sat across from him, back turned resolutely away from the sun. 

Tega set her jaw, the gross overpayment irritated her. It could be argued that there were more pressing concerns. It could also be argued that the most sensible thing would be to take the payment and act very thankful for it. But if it had been just her to consider, she would have given him his change and let him know that she knew what he was about. Tega’s hand even twitched on the lock of the money box as she deposited the coin. But Mrs. Huddles, the proprietor, had a teenage daughter and a much younger son. Regardless of pride, the gold was not Tega’s to give back. She put it carefully in the money box and locked it back up securely. 

As she would for any patron, she readied two cups of tea and carried them on a little white tray to the drows’ table, laying it down softly on the table. 

The bald drow looked up at her, smiling, “Thank you.” he said happily.

It wasn’t as though she was not frightened. But her fear manifested in still movements and a straight spine, rather than shaking hands and trembling lips. 

Her gaze spanned the table as she turned away, spread out before them was some sort of ledger. She nearly flinched. It was inconsistent and messy, black ink marks in untidy rows and sloppy columns. 

She retreated behind the counter, nearly quailing under the press of the other drow’s dark glower. The ledger, illogically, irritated her nearly as much as the drow daring to come into a wholesome bakery like this at all. If one were to bother to keep a ledger, one ought to do it neatly enough for it to be of any use at all. 

Her impulse was to fix it. Though this was, perhaps, not the most pragmatic instinct. 

She tucked herself behind the counter, after having warned the baker and her daughter to stay put in the back, and hoped the drow would leave quickly. According to the well labeled timesheet in the counter’s topmost drawer Tega was only to watch the counter until the afternoon after which the aforementioned teenage daughter, Ariel, who had only just turned fifteen, would take over. Tega was not able to be unmerciful enough to allow this. She instructed Mrs. Huddles to keep her daughter in the back and that Tega would be happy to stay until the dark skinned deviants left. Ariel regained a bit of her usual color after that.

The aforementioned dark skinned deviants stayed a long time. But they did not spend it alone. While the bald drow worked his way through a number of cupcakes, they met with a string of pretty girls in varying states of terror, all clutching the same, elegantly designed advertisement. 

The grouchy one didn’t say a word except to his companion and in drow but the other asked them a myriad questions, all while covertly watching the reactions of his companion with no small amount of amusement. He was, it seemed, looking for some sort of assistant, although he was more interested in twitching his eyebrows at them suggestively and praising their looks. 

None of the pretty, unfailingly busty girls showed much promise as far as being of any use. Tega didn’t judge them too harshly though, heavily inclined toward organization and academic excellence or not, it was hard to put one’s best foot forward while sitting across from a pair of dark elves. One of them might have been a world renowned mathematician and simply quaked too much to let any of it come across. It may even have been possible for the one to have put them at ease if his snarling companion had not been with him. Although Tega suspected that it was the dour companion’s disdain that made this entertaining for the other one.

It became increasingly anxiety inducing for Tega to watch the girls quake under the heavy stares of the drow and squirm uncomfortably when they whispered to each other in drow. Tega did wonder how much gold they had been promised to endure it, or if they were just too afraid to leave. The smiling one had introduced himself to her but, though usually quite good at names, she hadn’t gotten it. It had started with a J she thought. To stave off the squirming sensations of watching the drow interact with the unfortunate surface girls, she tried idly to remember it. 

Finally, after the ninth girl had fled from the door and the sun was beginning to set, the other one, Kimmuriel she was sure by now, stood angrily and strode out the door, growling, “Nindol zhah natha wahven d’ussta draeval!” 

Laughing, the other followed him out, calling out cajolingly after him. 

They left the ledger on the table. 

Tega watched them get smaller and smaller down the street and wiped her hands on her narrow hips. She crossed to their table and, picking up a used plate, glanced down at the messy book. 

She had always loved numbers. She loved how they didn’t change and she loved how they didn’t have any secrets or ulterior motives. She loved that if you knew how to talk to them you could make them do anything. She traced a skinny finger down the ledger, trying to follow the unkempt lines. 

She frowned and put down the plate she had been holding as pretense and took up the ledger instead, giving it her full attention.

She looked carefully at the numbers, drow and elven shared an alphabet and even without understanding their language she understood the bookkeeping. Or rather, the excuse for bookkeeping. There was almost a pattern to the idiocy of the messy bookkeeping and she could follow it quite well after only a few pages. She bit at her lip and her blood quickened with excitement. There was something hidden. Something done not quite right. It was hidden quite well, underneath the poor penmanship and inconsistent style that disguised it. In her head she reorganized the little scrawled numbers and clicked them deftly into place in straight little lines that could be easily deciphered. After that it was all very obvious.

“Interesting reading?”

She turned her head swiftly and lowered the book, starring over it at the colorful drow, who had returned and was looking at her expectantly. 

She glanced from the book to the drow and bit into her lip. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell him, what if it was him that was doing it? She should just smile idly and hand it back. She should go back behind the counter and let him leave. But she had become very excited to have found it and her desire to set the book to rights was becoming quite desperate. 

“Do you keep these?”

He raised an elegant eyebrow, “Do you mean do I write them? No. No, I don’t.” 

“But..” she hesitated, “But, it is your money they are keeping track of.”

He preened and smiled lasciviously at her, “Yes.”

“They are,” she faltered only momentarily, “stealing from you.” 

The preening stopped and the smile slid from his face, replaced with sudden malice, “What?” The word was clipped and not in the musical, lilting tone of before. 

This was what she had feared and she took a swift step backwards away from the drow. Although she kept the book clutched against her chest. 

But, damage done, she thought she might at least show him everything, “Whoever is keeping your books is stealing from you. Quite a lot.” 

“How do you…?”

She let her enthusiasm overtake her trepidation and she spread the book on the table. in her excitement to explain the puzzle solving she nearly forgot to be afraid that he was a drow. She traced her fingers quickly down the pages, “You see, these inconsistencies, they are the same, can you see?” she showed him the each piece, her words flitting out of her mouth before she could stop herself, getting nearly jittery in her enthusiasm. More garbled numbers than communicable words were spilling out of her as she tried to show him the intricate puzzle work. 

He had stopped trying to follower her fingers and was looking at her instead, his grin lingering at the edges of his mouth, “How long were you looking at this?”

She shrugged her thin shoulders, “A minute or so?”

“You discovered this in a minute or so?”

“Yes,” she said shortly, “And whomever it is you’ve allowed to manage this leger should feel ashamed of both his penmanship and organization.” 

He leaned back on his heels and regarded her, “Could you do better?” 

She pursed her lips then said in clipped words, “Well, to be frank an orc with a concussion could do better but of course I could.” 

He fixed her with a conniving grin, “Would you like a job?” 

She bit her tongue, “I have a job.” 

“Yes, and while I’m sure bringing people pastries is quite fulfilling for you, how would you like to organize the records of complicated mercenary organization?” He smirked at her and tilted his eyebrows, “Lots of intrigue, plenty of little puzzles to sort out.” 

He was not entirely wrong. She enjoyed working for Mrs. Huddles. She enjoyed remembering what sort of bagel the early morning customers liked and she enjoyed keeping the front of the store in pristine condition. But the occupation lacked enough depth to utilize her. 

“In the Underdark?” she asked.

He shrugged his nearly bare shoulders, “The city of Menzoberanzan specifically.” 

She frowned and looked at him with nearly improper intensity. A long moment passed, awkwardly long, but her eyes were hard and she answered in a sure voice, “Yes.” 

***

A long distance to the east from little Brooksong, stood a thick and imposing forest darkened by ropey vines and wet earth. Inside its trees crept unimagined beasts with snarling fangs or dripping venom. Outsiders to the forest, who weren’t equipped with the rations or hard earned knowledge to survive its many perils, were often lost irrevocably, unable to even call out for help from the forest’s indigenous inhabitants. 

Because the forest did not have indigenous inhabitants and had not for many years. But it had once, many years before a peculiarly dressed drow struck an unexpected bargain with a small and tidy elf in a sunlit bakery to the west. That long stretch of time before the forest had played home to a tribe of elves.

These elves dressed themselves in little more than scraps of woven vines or animal skins. They decorated their skin with dark ink that told of accomplishments and the passage of time. They wound their hair in thick patterns and lived among the trees. 

Among these elves had been one particularly tall and stiff jawed. His name was Khovus and he was, and had been since he had come of age, the chief of the elves who followed him. His well muscled arms and chest were covered in inky inscriptions of past deeds and felled foes and about his wrist hung a golden band made to look like branches. 

Khovus had once been married, but the lady to whom he had bound himself for perpetuity was no longer among his people. The eldest of his children joined him in refusing the speak of it and the other three had been far too young to remember her departure. 

Meika was the name of his eldest, a son, and following smartly in his father’s footsteps. He was an adult by the standards of his people, that is, he had completed his ritual, and assisted his father in the leadership of the tribe. The youngest were twins, rare among elves and supposedly a sign of good fortune. Both of them were also sons, Shikra and Drindok. 

They were bright and inseparable boys who managed to win the affection of their father no matter his reticence to give it out. 

Khovus’ middle child, and his only daughter was something of an enigma to the charismatic and outspoken leader. Tega, as her mother had named her, was more like her mother than any of his other children in looks but her demeanor was like that of neither her father nor her mother. 

She was small, had always been small, and her body refused to grow the defined and quick moving muscles of her people. Her skin remained a milky pale like her moon elf mother, but her hair didn’t mimic her mother’s gleaming ebony be stayed a dull mousey brown. 

Her looks he didn’t so much mind, but she was not like his other children who were bursting at the seams for adventure and excitement. Nor did she possess their innate physical ability. He had not had to teach them to climb the vines into their lofty, tree borne home. But no matter how many times he instructed her she could not pull herself up on her own. 

It was always a fight to get Tega to come out hunting with him, although she desperately needed the practice. She was much more content to sit reading and rereading one of the eight or so books her mother had left behind in a trunk. 

It wasn’t that Khovus didn’t love his daughter, he just found that it was difficult to connect with her. His sons didn’t require talking in order for him to feel close to them, they prowled silently alongside each other or crafted weapons side by side but not the girl. She liked to sit and to listen. 

He worried about her. It was becoming more and more clear as she grew and failed to become any sort of hunter or fighter that she had not been designed for this particular home. It was dangerous and people who couldn’t defend themselves didn’t last very long. For a number of years he had wondered just what he was to do with little Tega. 

***

When the drow had introduced himself for a second time, she had remembered his name, Jarlaxle. His office, when they arrived, was lush. It was covered with a thick and immensely soft carpet and hung with all manner of fineries. His desk stood near the back, centered between the two side walls. It was a grand thing, made of carved stone with many locked drawers and a plush purple cushioned chair. 

Tucked behind the door, pushed nearly into the corner was another desk, this one smaller with a little stool to sit on. There were few adornments on this one, but Tega ran her fingers along the edge of it, her head tilted. 

Jarlaxle tapped the desk smartly, “So, you’ll work here, I’ll have all of the old books brought up to you and you can start your reorganizing.” 

She furrowed her brow and looked over at him, “Why is it lit?”

“What?”

“Why do you keep your office lit? I thought drow prefer infravision.”

He spun around and glimmered at her, his white teeth flashing in the lantern light, “Oh, they do! I like to put the Matron’s off their guard!” He said grandly, with the air of someone trying to impress.

She worried at her lip and peered through her glasses at his lavish desk and the papers scattered messily atop it. “And I’m sure you can’t write without lighting. I’m sure you write a lot.” 

He deflated a bit and glanced down at his immaculate fingernails, “Well yes.” 

She pulled the stool out quietly and sat down, smoothing her skirt beneath her. She looked across the office at Jarlaxle, who was watching her, she straightened her spectacles. 

Despite hiring her and escorting her from her sun warmed apartment into the dark cave of the Bregen D’aerthe headquarters, he didn’t seem to know quite what to make of her. But it did even things out that she had no idea what to make of him. 

She imagined that the desk had been put in the corner of his office because he objective on the surface seemed to have been ornamentation. Not that she was complaining. He wanted her alive and she felt more comfortable under his direct protection.

A knock interrupted their sizing each other up. 

“Enter.” Jarlaxle called, he flashed her another toothy smile, “Your books.”

A scowling and rather short drow male came in, carrying a large pile of leather bound volumes of different sizes and thicknesses. Tega flinched.

He approached her desk, sneering at her threateningly. She held firm. From a distance above he dropped the books so they thunked loudly on the rickety desk. She curled her fingers into her skirt. 

Relieved of the books the surly drow turned to go, but he was called back by Jarlaxle’s cheery voice, “Draerel!” 

The drow turned and took nearly hesitant steps back to Jarlaxle’s desk.

Jarlaxle had risen while Draerel was depositing the books and circled around his desk. He was now leaning almost casually against it. A smile bright on his lips. Draerel stopped a few feet from Jarlaxle, apprehension clear on his features. 

His smile dissolving, Jarlaxle lunged elegantly forward, a sword that seemed to grow from his hand piercing Draerel’s heart and skewering him in the middle of the office, “Xun naut olplynir dal uns’aa.” Jarlaxle said darkly, then he repeated himself in Common, “Do not steal from me.” 

The attack had startled Tega. Although she had suspected that whomever had been stealing would not meet a nice ending, she wasn’t entirely ready to watch someone be killed at her feet. The body scraped off the blade and tumbled to the floor. She reasoned that this is what she had gotten herself into but nonetheless stiffened, keeping herself very still. The drow had already been dead when the Jarlaxle had repeated his threat in Common and Tega was quite certain it had been meant for her. 

Jarlaxle was looking at her, she bit the inside of her lip for only a moment before calmly saying, “I’m going to need blank consistent ledger volumes.” 

He tilted his head back and laughed with real mirth, “You’re better than I would have given you credit for.” 

Anxious to see if she lived up to his hopes, he got her her new ledger volumes within the hour.]

The moment she got her fingers on them she began the arduous process of recopying old records from their ungainly scrawling to neat little lines. She sat in perfect silence, the slim metal pen scratching softly across the pages. It felt, to Tega, like a cleaning of her own brain. The messy ledgers that she didn’t fully understand yet had introduced an unwelcome clutter that she was very much enjoying setting to rights. It, had the added challenge of sums disappearing every so often. Beside the ledger she had a dark slate board she used for her calculations. 

Jarlaxle glanced up at her occasionally as she steadfastly worked, looking up briefly only when his door opened to allow in the stream of visitors who had scheduled meetings with him. Other than the rigidity of her shoulders, her demeanor didn’t change, even with the addition of the, often scowling, drow who came and went from the cozy chairs set before his desk. 

It was late when he dismissed the drow who guarded him from the extradimensional pockets festooned throughout the office. This did startle her. Then, of course, who wouldn’t be startled by fifteen drow males slipped from seemingly nowhere armed to the teeth? 

She watched as they stalked from the room, holding her pen very tightly, her thin nose flared. Jarlaxle rose after them and thoroughly locked the door behind them. His uninterrupted evenings were when he got through most of his tedious paperwork. Three long and dry reports were waiting for him and a dozen missives that needed his consultation. He settled back behind his desk and retrieved his own plumed quill. 

Tega worked with him, late into the night. 

When, at last, his eyes itched with tiredness and the final missive was tucked away to be sent off by messenger first thing in the morning, he rose and stretched. Tega looked up at him. 

“I will show you to your chambers, if you’d like.” 

She cleaned off the tip of her pen, carefully erased the work on her slate and, marking her pages, closed the ledgers, locking them in her desk. She rose, flexing her, surely sore, hands. “That would be lovely.” 

She paid careful attention as he led her town the twisting hallways, determined to learn the route between her chambers and the office by heart. It seemed a dangerous place to get lost. 

He opened a door for her and allowed her to pass him, into the small room. He grinned at her, “The door is warded and locked from the inside and my mercenaries have been warned against troubling you, but,” he said, proffering a slim pendant, “Do shout if they try anything.” 

She took the pendant, “Goodnight, Jarlaxle.” 

He beamed, “Goodnight, Tega.” 

***

It went on very much like that for weeks. Tega very carefully fixing the band’s records while Jarlaxle met with scowling Elderboys and irate Matron Mothers and send letters and commands throughout the drow inhabited underdark. 

Six weeks into her employment, she finished recopying the logs and they now sat on a shelf that had been installed behind her desk, organized and labelled chronologically. 

Jarlaxle had barely noticed she had finished, she moved so efficiently from one task to the next. Only because of her tidy system and a rather lax day for him did he spot something had changed. 

She had returned to the earliest log book, one copied from an original made long before the thieving and now dead ex-accountant had been a member of the organization. It was easy to tell what she was working with, a dark hole left in the spot on the shelf where the book should be. 

Her transparency intrigued Jarlaxle, nearly as much as her enthusiasm for what he might consider one of the most boring tasks that couldn’t be avoided. 

But he said nothing, allowing her to continue with whatever project she had come up with. He didn’t have the time to coddle her into what work had to be done and he wanted to discover what she came up with one her own. 

It took her three months to finish this project. But this time she alerted him to it’s completion. During the hours after Jarlaxle’s guard had been dismissed and when they finally rested, she got up from her desk, crossed the room and deposited a slim stack of papers, labeled, numbered, and clipped together onto the corner of his desk without a word. 

He looked up at her, her bangs, as they were every day, were clipped out of her eyes and her brass spectacles sat squarely on her nose. She had a pale blue blouse peaking out of a white sweater and a skirt that brushed her knees. 

“What is this?”

She wriggled her nose to push her glasses back and, when that was ineffective, took the bow between her fingers and nudged them back instead, “It’s a fiscal report.” She flipped the cover page and revealed immaculately crafted graphs, “It tracks your gains and losses through the last century.” 

Finished with his questions or not, she turned and sat back down at the rickety stool behind her desk. 

Jarlaxle put down Kimmuriel’s report on the defenses of a doomed house. As necessary as it was, Kimmuriel could write a report on a dashing young rogue making his way through all the finest specimens in a particularly well kept brothel and it would still be intolerably dry. He picked up Tega’s report instead. 

It was impressively lovely. Perhaps not brilliance in its own right but she had turned the last centuries gapped and inexact record keeping into meticulous depiction of growth and decay. He skipped to a portion labelled, “House War Profitability Margins - Menzoberanzan” and scanned it. He grinned.

She had recorded and determined a ratio of of house defenses to average profit and then simplified it to an estimated requisite cost of a house war dependent upon the house’s rank. 

He glanced over the report at her. She was back at work, ink staining the tips of her fingers, with an adorable little smear of it across the tip of her nose. He watched her shift uncomfortably on her stool, readjust, and return to writing. 

He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk, thoroughly perusing her report. He dog eared pages and made notes at his leisure. After a few moments, and when he as less entranced with her gift than he had been a minute ago, he blinked and called over to her, “You wrote the report in drow.” 

She looked up, “Of course I did, this is a drow institution.” 

He chuckled, “You should improve your grammar.” 

She flushed nearly crimson, “I can rewrite it.” 

He laughed, “Nonsense, it’s endearing” he winked roguishly. 

She blinked very quickly and adjusted her glasses, staring back down at the papers in front of her. 

He watched her bite at her bottom lip a few times then look purposefully back up at him, “Would I be able to get a straight edge with cork lining the bottom?” 

“I don’t know.” He said sighing, “That is a very tall request.” 

Minute lines appeared between her brows, “Then enjoy the imprecise graphs.” She said cuttingly. 

Jarlaxle really did laugh at that, “Well, if the precision of your graphs is on the line I suppose you shall have to have your straight edge.” 

***

The next day she came to her desk to discover a straight edge sitting atop a massive pile of loose leaf papers. She paged through some of it, “What is this?”

Jarlaxle glanced up, “All the records I could find, weapons and jewelry we’ve taken from houses or been given as payment, casualties, where we picked up recruits; anything I thought you could make use of.” 

Her eyes lit up and she pressed her lips together as she fixed him with a little smile. “I’ll get right to work.” 

An hour later she barely acknowledged him when he said he was going to a meeting and would be out the rest of the day. He dismissed the guard before he left and locked her into the office. Although he had been particularly fierce in his renewed order that no harm was to come to her, he didn’t trust a fifteen very bored drow alone with her all day. 

And now she had a new and exciting project. She had always had an affinity to numbers but had had very few opportunities to put her knowledge to any practical use. She wondered if this was a first time occurrence or system that would be established. When she completed her next project would she be rewarded with new tools and interesting records? 

She intended to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As had already become custom in the time she was working for him, Jarlaxle found Tega in his office, already working by the time he was just thinking of getting started. He was still not entirely used to sharing his office, but he had taken to it rather well. He liked having someone to make idle conversation with, even if she didn’t often talk back.

“Good morning, Tega.” He said, turning his broad smile on her as he came in.

She looked up from her work. Already her fingers were stained with ink and papers were stacked neatly around her, long strings of numbers carefully marked on straight lines. 

She returned his smile, with a little less enthusiasm, “Good morning, Jarlaxle.” 

When he had put the desk in the corner, he hadn’t thought that he would actually fill it. He hadn’t needed and assistant. He kept his own schedule well enough. He had only been having fun with Kimmuriel. He may have also been reminding the uppity psion that if Jarlaxle wanted to waste his time he had every right, but that wasn’t the point. He had not really meant to fill the desk with an awkward little elf. 

He settled himself in, working on the last few touches on a number of letters he had been working on the night before then picking up reports he had yet to work through. He eyed the one on top skeptically. 

It was a report on the profits from a long running house war he had allowed his lieutenants to manage. It had been a mediocre job but they had been able to squeeze enough gold from the house’s pockets to make it worthwhile. 

 

The report was messy, with many scratchings out and revisions. The handwriting left much to be desired and the cramped little letters smudged together on the page. That was the problem with male drow. Unless they were wizards no one ever thought it was profitable to teach them to write very well. Some took to it well enough but if there was no natural talent they ended up writing like goblins. He flipped through it, counting ten pages of report. It was too early for a headache. 

He leaned back in his chair and peered at his accountant from under his hat. There was no reason he had to spend his very valuable time going through a financial report. She could clean it up and make pretty little graphs about it. 

Just as he was deciding that it could be her barely legible problem, there was a light knock on his door. 

“Yes, come in!” He called, recognizing the knock. 

A familiar young drow came in with his eyes lowered. He had been picked out of his house when he was still quite young and virile, just a few days out of Melee Magthere. He was more pretty than useful, something he had used to get through school mostly unscathed. He bore with him what he always did at this time of day, breakfast. 

He laid the tray on the desk, shyly glancing up at Jarlaxle as he did, “Captain.” he said in hardly more than a whisper. Like a good, well trained, boy he dropped his gaze again to the floor before retreating out of the room. 

Jarlaxle plucked a few of the choicest treats off of the tray and deposited them onto a small plate. He rose with his terrible report and crossed the office to Tega’s little desk. 

“I have a gift for you!” He announced in a cheery voice.

She looked up quietly, her glasses slipping down her nose. 

He set down the breakfast and handed her the report with a flourish. 

She took it, straightening her glasses and inspecting it. It seemed to take her a few moments before she even understood what it was. “Oh,” she said with a small crease wrinkling her brow, “Thank you.”

He laughed, “You’re quite welcome,” he said with a wink. He was halfway back to his desk when she stopped him.

“Is this urgent?” 

More out of curiosity how she would respond than really needing it this second, Jarlaxle replied, “Yes, finish it within the hour will you?” 

Color rose in her cheeks. Jarlaxle watched her bite down on her tongue and clench her shoulders. She held that tense position for a few seconds before saying, “Thank you for breakfast.” 

He grinned and returned to his desk. There was no reason he needed it within the hour, but he was still trying to get a handle on her abilities. 

He barely got anything done in the next hour. He spent most of it covertly watching her from under the brim of his hat. 

She had set aside her other work and had a neat array of four materials. The open ledger book where she recording each additional gain and cost, the report itself, a fresh paper, and a black tome he didn’t recognize. She was writing in a flurry, not pausing to notice that in her speed flecks of ink were marring her pretty cream colored sweater. 

Every once in awhile she would pause and write something slowly on her slate in chalk and then rifle through the book. She fixed her glasses so often Jarlaxle was tempted to buy her something better fitting himself. 

Exactly one hour, to the minute, her writing went in an instant from furious to silent and she stood to present him with a mercifully brief report. It was nicely labeled, neatly organized, and finished off with a lovely little table of acquisitions. It was here where he started. 

Wordlessly, though with a triumphant little swing in her step, she returned to whatever she had been working on before. 

He started in on the report. Her handwriting was beautiful and clear. He traced his finger down the chart, looking at how they had come out. Plenty of gold, a good deal of weaponry, an estimated worth of miscellany that had yet to be really gone through, and…

He furrowed his brow and put the report closer to the light, and shifting his hat to see better. “Tega?” he said in confusion. 

She looked up her eyes almost challenging, “Yes?” 

“We lost 27 hooks?” 

Her thin nostrils flared, “Is that what I wrote?” 

“27 glin” He said, using the drow as she had written it. 

Her eyes dragged down to the black book she had been looking through. She turned a few pages and traced her finger down it. Then she flushed crimson. In a very soft voice she said, “...soldiers. You lost 27 soldier.” 

Jarlaxle lost himself laughing. He tipped his chair back and his hat fell off the back of his head. “You were close!” He said, gasping for breath, “glenn, is soldiers.” 

She ducked her head back down, “I can rewrite the report.” She said, getting up.

He clutched it to his chest, “You will not.” he protested, ‘Your time is much too valuable for that.” 

She returned to her seat, still pink cheeked. 

“Is that a Drow dictionary?” He asked.

“No.” She said shortly, “It’s a Drow lexicon.” 

He softened, “I forgot you were still just learning Drow, you’re so good at it already.” 

She took off her glasses, cleaning them on her sweater and not looking at him.

***

Khovus watched his daughter struggling to use the small spear with a frown on his face. She was too small and too weak. Where her brothers, younger than her by half had already mastered this and gone far beyond. She didn’t even have a living target. 

All she had to do was throw a short spear a few feet into a tree. He could not remember a child who had been so poor at it. And his own flesh and blood. He watched as she tried to throw it, tripped, slammed the tip into the ground and nearly flipped herself over. 

He looked up into the trees and made eye contact with his eldest son, Meika, glancing down at his little sister. 

Meika nodded dutifully and swung in a graceful arc from their treetop home onto the ground beside his baby sister. 

“Tega,” he said, taking the spear from her and demonstrating how to hold it. He launched it at the tree, striking dead on in the target. The spear didn’t stick in, it had been dulled so she could safely practice, but had it been sharp they would be hard pressed to get it back out again. 

Meika’s body was lean and tautly muscled. He wore only thin coverings, leaving his chest and arms bare and riddled with dark tattoos that melded against his burnished skin. Khovus still burned with pride whenever he saw the three raised stripes scarified across his boy’s shoulder, circumscribed with black tattooing. His solitary coming of age hunt had yielded a dead tiger that had attacked him from the trees. While other children returned with capybara and okapi, his son had dragged home a fearsome beast. 

Meika had been born to lead. Fearsome and charismatic there were none in the tribe who did not like him. And he had only just taken up with a female a few decades younger than he. She was a respectable hunter and not taken to foolishness. Khovus readily approved. 

His other children, the twins, still too young to have even attempted their hunts were playing with the vines. They swung themselves up and down amongst the branches, swinging each other across the ground camp. He could usually find them making long leaps through the air, only to catch onto another vine. They knew just how to angle their acrobatics, flying through the trees more than leaping. 

But Tega. She could not move silently and she could not fight a half starved bird if her life depended on it. She still used the swing to get up into their home that had been made for children. 

Khovus did not know what to do with her. Their world was too dangerous for a child who could not take care of herself. He did not have it in him to send her on her hunt, although by her age she should be going soon, should already have gone. She would be eaten alive. 

He watched her try to hold the spear as Mieka showed her. She moved awkwardly. She looked out of place, like they had stolen her from somewhere else. Even the young things had tattoos. Shikra, the younger of the twins had made his first kill, earning a small circled about his wrist. Drindok, the other twin, had a thin strip across his shoulders for completing his first fire dance. 

Tega’s skin was unmarred. Her hands were uncalloused. Her skin too fair and eyes too soft. 

Tega, frustrated, put the spear on the ground and sulked away from her brother. Being her brother, he had less patience with her than Khovus did. With a heavy sigh, Khovus followed his tender daughter.

“Tega?” He called out in his gutterally deep voice. 

“What?” She said, turning around. Even upset as she was now she didn’t lose her quiet softness. He could see the tears sparkling in her eyes but her voice had no tremor. 

He squatted down and looked up at her, “Tega,” he said softly, “You must practice.”

“I don’t know why,” she said in a whisper, “You know as well as I do that I’m not going to be any good.” 

He brushed her long hair out of her eyes, she furrowed her brow at him, her eyes squinting. She was always squinting.

“You know you have to complete your hunt soon. You know other children your age already completed theirs and took their spots as adults. Tega, do you not understand what is required of you?” 

She scrunched her little shoulders together and looked at him meekly, “You should just leave me in a town somewhere where I can do something worthwhile.” 

Khovus felt a small shudder in his heart. He had thought of this often as she had been growing up. He would never have suggested it and if he followed through on it it would break his heart to let her go. But would she not be better off? And if she wanted to go. 

“Is that what you want?” He said too readily. 

With the calm she had maintained and in his relief that she had suggested it, he forgot that she was an upset and frightened little girl. He overlooked that she had not really suggested it. That she had wanted to be reassured that there was place for her, that she was loved. But he had not reassured her.

It would have been easier if she had thrown a fit. If she had cried and run away, clamboring up to their home and refusing to talk to him. He knew how to deal with tantrums. Meika had been a strong willed boy, he had thrown his fair share. 

But she did not. The tears that had been sparkling in her eyes were blinked away and she stood perfectly still. The changes were subtle but he was her father. He had raised her from a mewling baby and not missed much of it. Her little shoulders stiffened and blushes of color painted her cheeks. When she spoke it was in the smallest whisper of air that Khovus could have heard, “Is that what you want, papa?” 

***

The last few months had been some of the most productive in the Bregen D’aerthe’s history. Jarlaxle had very quickly acclimated to his immaculately organized and tirelessly hardworking assistant. Well, accountant. Well, to be truthful he wasn’t entirely sure what she was. He had anticipated her being his accountant after her display at the bakery, but she was far too accomplished for just that title. 

The ledger keeping that had occupied his old drow accountant’s entire day took her mere hours and in the interim she never failed to find projects. 

She had really shown her benefit a month ago. They had been working in his office and he had been in a truly foul mood. He had six appointments to attend and an intolerably high stack of reports and missives to get through. He had thrown his hat across the room in irritation after reading a three page report that had nothing of any Lolth damned use in it. 

Wordlessly, Tega stood up, straightened her pleated sky blue skirt and crossed the room. She looked at the pile and said softly, “May I?” 

He hesitated, there was senstive information in those papers. 

“Who would I possibly betray you to, Jarlaxle?” she said quietly, “And why?” 

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Would I like a promotion to a lieutenant under a new Captain so that I could lead a drow army?” She asked. There was no actual lilt of sarcasm in her voice, but the edges of Jarlaxle’s lips turned up at the thought. He allowed himself to silently enjoy imagining her in a cardigan, straightening her glasses and telling a drow army that what it really lacked was proper labelling.

Jarlaxle had decided that this was his favorite part about her. She was entirely guileless. He had to agree with her, there was nothing she could do with the information. So he handed over his papers and turned to the directives he had to write out before leaving for the first two of his meetings. 

When he had returned to his office to find something to eat before the rest of the day’s affairs, and for a few hours break, he found neat stacks on his desk. She had made three piles for him, each labelled. The first and largest, were labelled, “Does Not Need Attention” and had a single sheet summarizing the entire stack. The second “Needs Attention” was much smaller stack. Next to it and the smallest piles was labelled, “Urgent.” 

That first time he had gone through everything anyway, making sure her judgement was sound. After that he had never bothered to read anything she marked, “Does Not Need Attention.” 

It had freed up very much of his time, although he wasn’t sure where she got all of hers, not that he ever saw her do anything but working. Perhaps he should tell her to take a break sometime. He could show her the city. 

***

The need to make sure she didn’t wear herself out didn’t become immediate until a night he had not spent working alongside his little assistant. He had been out very late dealing with a particularly distasteful Matron Mother. He had gone back and forth between houses for hours until the very small hours of the night and while he preferred that to desk work, he was relieved to be home. 

Although he would have like to go straight to bed, he needed to make a pit stop in his office to deposit some papers before retiring. He pushed his eyepatch tiredly up his forehead as he slipped inside his office. He shut the door behind him and then startled. 

There was still a light on in his office, a small flickering fairy fire lamp on Tega’s rickety desk. Caught in its illumination was his accountant, glasses askew and fast asleep with her head on her desk. He thought she must have rubbed her face in her sleep because she had left a streak of dark ink in a long smudge across her cheek. 

He tilted his head and looked at her. He wondered if she had gotten caught up in her work or felt unsafe walking back to her room alone. He had escorted her every night before this. He had a brief thought of just covering her and letting her be, but the only thing at hand was his cloak, which he wasn’t willing to part with. Besides, sleeping on a desk can’t have been comfortable. 

He walked around her desk and touched her hand gently, “Tega?” 

Having spent the entire span of his very long life in Menzoberanzan, Jarlaxle was very well accustomed to people who reacted with violence to being woken up suddenly. He probably knew more people who would leap to their feet with drawn weapons upon being awoken then would not. The few times he had woken his old associate Zaknafein had nearly resulted in the loss of a few fingers. 

So he could hardly contain himself when Tega awoke in with a jolt, flapping her hands and tipping backward in her chair. He quickly put a hand out to steady her, face split into a grin.

“Goodmorning, my industrious little worker!” He laughed, “Did you sleep well?” 

She was flushed pink, righting her glasses on her face, “I’m...oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was… I well. I was working and…”

He cut her off, “Would you like an escort to your room?” 

She awkwardly shuffled her papers, “Yes please.” 

He crossed the room to his own desk to deposit his own papers and, having relieved himself of them, leaned against the desk’s edge and watched her put her papers in order. Her cheeks were still pink and hair stuck up on one side. 

“You didn’t want to walk back alone?” 

Her voice was soft in reply, “I was working.”

“Yes, so hard that you fell asleep on your desk” he replied with skepticism. He let her silently fidget with her papers for awhile before he added, “I’m sure you could do something against a drow in the hallway.” 

Her fingers stilled for a part of a moment on the papers before she looked up at him, eyes surprisingly hard behind her glasses. 

“Are you asking me if I could beat you in a fight?” she asked, her soft voice belaying the sharpness of her gaze, “No. I couldn’t. As I’m sure you aren’t slow enough to have missed.” 

He pushed himself off the desk and approached her again. “I suppose I could find someone to teach you, if you wanted.” He mused. Tapping his finger against his chin.

The edges of her lips turned down and he could see stiffness set into her shoulders, when she spoke, however, her voice retained its softness, “You wouldn’t find me a good student, I’m afraid.”

He waved his hand dismissively at her, “Come here.” 

She came toward him in small steps, her fingernails picking at the cuticles of her thumbs. 

He took off his hat and laid it on the desk, he put his multi colored cloak down with it, thinking that it’s magic wouldn’t help. 

Standing before him, face turned down and shoulders hunched, it was not hard to see that she was upset. Jarlaxle wondered if she was readying herself for an attack. 

“Put your fists up.” He wanted her to play along, thought that it would be fun. And it would have been nice to have her entire attention, rather than torn between him and her work. Sometimes he said the cleverest things and she never even seemed to hear. 

With slow and deliberate motions she put her fists, exactly where they should be to defend herself. He thought that maybe she did know how to fight. Perhaps he could cajole her into sparing. Maybe they could spar every morning before the day started!

He envisioned how satisfying it would be if she could leap deftly into combat, her verve for detail would make her an interesting opponent. 

“Do you know how to punch?” He asked teasingly. 

“I-” she started. Her voice had gone from quiet to weak, “In theory.” 

Jarlaxle thought she could use a little taunting to spark her vigour, “I’ll let you have the first shot.” He laughed, “You can hit me as hard as you can.” 

She frowned, “I don’t want to do this, Jarlaxle.” She said desperately. 

“Come on!” he cajoled, he was sure now that he saw her reticence that she knew just what she was doing and thought it would be pragmatic to keep it under wraps. It was a good ploy. But he liked to know the real ability of people who worked ten feet away from him.

“I...you want me to hit you?” She asked in a shaking voice. 

“As hard as you can!” 

As soon as she started to move he could tell he had been wrong. She tilted back her torso, her feet rigidly planted next to each other and swung her fist at him. A good punch came with weight thrown in behind it, she just bent her arm at the elbow and whacked him in the chest. All while she had her eyes clenched tightly shut.

Immediately she pulled her hand back and cradled it against her chest. Scowling at him openly. She looked very upset. 

He was torn somewhere between pity and laughter, “Did you hurt your hand?” 

“No!” she said, rubbing her wrist. 

A very drow impulse rose through his blood. She would be so easy. Entirely defenseless. He wouldn’t even need protective magic or weapons. He forced the instinct away. She was a much more useful as an intact and helpful accountant. 

He softened his tone, more for his own benefit than for hers, he would not be a victim to his heritage. “Let me take you to your room.” 

She ducked her head and crossed her arms and allowed herself to be led back to her quarters. “Goodnight, Jarlaxle,” she said in a whisper.

“Goodnight Tega,” He said back. 

She shut the door and he allowed himself to scowl. He had envisioned that as fun, not awkward and upsetting. Now he really did want to go to bed. 

He turned to go to his quarters and swore, remembering that he needed to retrieve his cloak and hat before bed. He woefully returned to his office.

He could no readily understand how that had gone so damn poorly. So she fought like a drowning child, he could have taught her to hit. It should have been fun. Why had she gotten so upset?

When he reached his office he was, for the second time that night, surprised to find it occupied.

This time it was his young acquisition who brought him breakfast, Kar’Dritch. 

“It’s a bit late for breakfast, is it not?” Jarlaxle asked, he was much too tired and irate for whatever this boy needed. Well, he supposed it wasn’t fair to call him a boy, he was a Melee Magthere graduate after all.

The young and pretty thing turned, demurely looking down before glancing back up at him through his eyelashes, “I saw that you had returned late, I thought you might be hungry.” 

He had brought a tray laden with succulent fruits and delicacies. 

Jarlaxle knew what Kar’Dritch was doing. The boy had gotten through his time at Melee Magthere this way, seeking protection from those stronger and more able than he. But what sort of Captain would he be if he didn’t protect his new recruits. Besides, he had worked hard today, didn’t he deserve it not to end in awkward discomfort?

He walked forward toward Kar’Dritch, stopping when he was nearly pressed against him. He reached around him to and picked up a juice laden piece of fruit. “You have wonderful taste.” he said, eyes glittering at his young soldier. 

“I’ve been told the fruit is to your liking.” Kar'Dritch said gently.

“Is it to yours?” 

The young drow moved his eyes slowly from Jarlaxle’s lips to his eyes, “I have never tasted it.” 

In a breathy voice Jarlaxle whispered, “A tragedy.” 

He lifted his other hand and tilted Kar'Dritch’s chin back, he obliged willingly, opening his lips to allow Jarlaxle to feed him the fruit. Briefly he closed his lips around Jarlaxle’s fingers, letting his tongue touch their tips. 

Jarlaxle smiled at the boy. The unmistakable signs that Kar'Dritch was as excited about the proceedings as he was the signal he needed. 

He let his fingers trail softly down Kar'Dritch’s throat. Gooseflesh rose in their path but the small flinch when his fingers were at his throat made Jarlaxle still for a moment. 

“Don’t be so afraid,” Jarlaxle whispered in hot breath against his ear. He unbuttoned Kar'Dritch’s spider silk shirt and pushed it off of shoulders, “What sort of Captain would I be if I let any harm befall you?” 

He ran his fingers over Kar'Dritch’s freshly exposed skin, not even using his nails. Kar'Dritch trembled underneath him. Masters at Melee Magthere were famously unimaginative and Jarlaxle liked it when all parties enjoyed an experience. 

“Ca-captain” he said huskily. 

Normally Jarlaxle would correct him, tell him to say his name in a voice like that. But calling him Captain had it’s own sort of thrill. It had been a long time since anyone had done that. He said nothing. 

There was an element of charm in allowing this to be an equal experience for both of them that Jarlaxle relished, especially with one so young and, Jarlaxle suspected, brutalized. Dealing with Matrons as he had all day always made Jarlaxle particularly warm toward this sort of engagement and for Lloths sake he didn’t think he could handle another distraught person tonight. 

“Say the word,” Jarlaxle whispered to him, “And I will stop and let you return to your barracks.” 

For a moment the spell was broken and Kar'Dritch blinked at him, “...what?” 

Jarlaxle laid his lips against his neck, biting tenderly and sucking at the soft skin. He worked his way up Kar'Dritch’s jaw until his lips were against his ear, “I do nothing you don’t want. You need only tell me.” 

Jarlaxle returned to nibbling at his throat, his fingers running softly down his abdomen. 

As though testing it out, Kar'Dritch said, in a shuddering voice, “St-stop.” 

Jarlaxle lifted his lips from his skin and let his hands drop to his sides with a shrug. 

Kar'Dritch looked at Jarlaxle with lust clouded wonder. “Captain,” he breathed with a measure of devotion. He reacted as Jarlaxle had hoped that he would and stepped forward, putting his hands up to Jarlaxle’s chest, letting his fingers touch Jarlaxle’s wiry frame. He began pushed away the vest and looked with hooded eyes at Jarlaxle, “May I?”

“As you wish,” Jarlaxle grinned. 

He pushed the vest off, looking at Jarlaxle like a treasure to be admired. Jarlaxle thrilled. 

Jarlaxle took the Kar'Dritch’s slender chin between his fingers and pulled him to his lips, exploring his mouth that still tasted of fruit. He melted into his captain, greedy to show his appreciation. Jarlaxle could tell immediately how he had come out so well at the academy when he had such mediocre martial abilities. 

Jarlaxle took his time with his enthusiastic conquest. He might have been tired, but he was not going to pass up an opportunity like this. 

It was a long time before he bent him over the desk. Kar'Dritch, entirely stripped, clawed at the desk, looking back at Jarlaxle, his pupils were dark with lust, his lips swollen. Jarlaxle had made sure he was well prepared, and looked down at him, his own lust making it difficult to draw this out. 

“Tell me, Kar'Dritch,” Jarlaxle rasped, “what is it that you want?” 

“Captain,” he gasped back, “Captain, I beg you. Please.” He pressed languidly against Jarlaxle, moaning with the contact. There was a no more perfect combination of lust and affection. 

Jarlaxle took one single more moment to revel in the lithe body writhing so willingly beneath him before he pressed into him. He moved gradually, kissing his back as he did. He began to move rhythmically, angling himself until Kar'Dritch released a mewl with each stroke. 

The new little rogue began a litany under his breath, interspersed with sobbing gasps, “Captain. My Captain. Oh. Captain.” 

Unable to restrain himself Jarlaxle was lost to abandon, his legs shaking as he jerked against Kar'Dritch’s pliant body. When Kar'Dritch screamed in rapture, his body tightening and spasming, sensation erupted through Jarlaxle’s belly and he arched his back, his head thrown back to the ceiling, calling out. 

Returning to his senses, he lowered his head, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. His eyes fell on the office’s open door and he didn’t know if he should curse or laugh. Eyes wide and fluttering about the scene, freshly dressed and speechless, was Tega.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tega stood in the doorway, unable to find words. Jarlaxle just grinned at her in a lopsided sort of way, not even having the grace to look mortified. 

“I - Sorry,” she said already turning away and going back the way she had come, “I’ll just give you....” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence, closing the door. She wasn’t sure if she should wait or go back to her rooms and work from there. But all of her things were in the office and she didn’t know how long they would be. Awkwardly, she waited outside the door, hoping there would not be too many drow who walked passed. 

She didn’t even know if that should have been embarrassing for Jarlaxle. It seemed like it wasn’t. But was a regular drow embarrassed by such things? She hadn’t seen his companion’s face so she had no gauge on what he was feeling. 

It can’t have been very comfortable sprawled out on the desk. It was all very well for Jarlaxle who just had to stand there, but the desk was rather hard to be laying over face first. And, Tega suspected, thinking of the polished stone the desk was made out of, very cold. It would have been nice for Jarlaxle to put down a blanket or something. 

Had she thought about it a day ago she might have supposed that seeing Jarlaxle undressed from the waist up would not be so different from how she saw him every day. She would have been wrong. It was very different. She had wanted the day to be less awkward than the night before had been. She had gotten up early to make sure she could be entirely settled by the time he made it to his office. 

And he was….he was… Wasn’t that Kar’Dritch who brought breakfast? Jarlaxle had just been… It wasn’t as though she was entirely naive about that sort of thing. She had grown up in a glorified tree house which had not provided much privacy. But she had not expected for it to be thrown in her face so early in the morning. It seemed much more a time for eating pancakes than taking young mercenaries on desks. 

She was finding it rather difficult to think about something other than Jarlaxle yelling out with his head thrown back. She felt the tiniest of flutters in her belly and flushed even more red than she had been. She tried instead to construct a list in her head of all the things she wanted to get done that day in order of importance, but she found she wasn’t quite able to. 

In his office, Jarlaxle tossed Kar’Dritch his pants and began retying his own. The pretty little thing still looked dazed. His hair glittered in the lamplight and Jarlaxle noticed for the first time that he had silver strands woven into it that caught the light prettily. 

Jarlaxle didn’t bother putting on the rest of his accoutrements, bundling them up and dropping them into his extradimensional pocket. He would have to bathe and rest anyway. Besides, he wanted to remain a little unkempt when Tega came back in. 

Kar’Dritch finished rebuttoning his shirt and Jarlaxle grinned at him wolfishly. Kar’Dritch demured, looking down at the floor. Jarlaxle tilted his chin up with his fingers and touched the boy’s silver woven hair, letting his fingers run through it.

“Beautiful,” Jarlaxle said, making the corners of Kar’Dritch’s lips turn up. 

Jarlaxle gave him another grin and waved him dismissively out the door. He looked over his shoulder before he left, eyes still lust hazy and affection filled. Jarlaxle preened happily.

On his way out, Kar’Dritch saw Tega waiting in the hall, cheeks still bright and pulling at her sweater with discomfort. He shrugged at her, looking half embarrassed and half proud of himself. 

He was gone before Jarlaxle poked his head out the door to fetch Tega, “You can come in now,” he laughed. 

She didn’t look at him, just slid passed into the office and took her seat at her desk. 

Jarlaxle returned to his own desk and sat on top of it. It was still cleared off rather tellingly and he was only in very tight pants and nothing else. She did not look up. 

He raised his eyebrow in affected boredness, “Are you going to spend the rest of the day not looking at me?” 

Rather defiantly she did glance up at him, then finding him mostly unclothed, immediately looked back at her papers, “Is there any way that you could warn me if you are using your office for personal affairs?”

He very nearly retorted that she could take part in them and therefor never be taken by surprise again, but he didn’t think that would help the situation. 

Tiredness was settling back over him, so he stretched and stifled a yawn. “I’ll be back later,” he said, shrugging at her even if she wasn’t looking, “Would you like me to have Kar’Dritch bring you some breakfast?” 

She hunched lower in her seat, “No no, I’m not hungry.” 

He left her in the office, going back to his quarters to finally get a little rest.

In the office, Tega worked undisturbed for nearly half the day. Left to her own devices it did not take her long to recover. She would simply act as though it had never happened. That would not be difficult. She could have guessed that Jarlaxle spent his free time in such a manner, but it was a little disconcerting to see him with a direct underling. She thought it a little unprofessional. 

Irritated at herself for continuing to think about it, she threw herself into her work. With no Jarlaxle to hand her new reports to deal with, she had all the time in the world to work on her new big idea. It wasn’t particularly elegant or innovative, but the paperwork had been so long mismanaged that it took a very long time to make headway. 

The Bregen D’aerthe’s inventory was spread across myriad sheets of awkward notations and meaningless scribbling. It was impossible to tell what they had and what they didn’t. Impossible to tell what belonged to them and what miscreant drow were making off with. Jarlaxle might think that a negligible cost but she was quite certain that it would add up to something significant. And it calmed her to take things from chaos into order. 

She had been working on this for a few hours before she was interrupted. He knocked before he came in, but didn’t wait for a reply. 

Kar’Dritch slipped inside with a tray of lunch and a sheepish grin. 

Tega forced herself not to fuss with her sweater, “Jarlaxle isn’t here,” she said in her still struggling drow.

“Yes,” he said, speaking slowly for her benefit, “I thought you might be hungry.” 

She felt mollified, “Well...yes. Is it really among your duties to bring food to me? I thought my favors had run dry with the lexicon.” 

He laid the tray on her desk, “Finding a tray of food doesn’t take all that much doing, and besides, Jarlaxle finds you profitable.” 

It took her a moment to work through his words, when she did she shrugged rather awkwardly, “It seems he find you profitable as well.” 

He laughed at grinned, she was happy his skin was so dark so she didn’t have to see any sort of evidence of his evening. 

He plucked a morsel from her tray and ate it lazily, leaning on her desk, “Does the book help?” 

She nibbled at the food, ravenous and touched the lexicon he had brought for her one morning before Jarlaxle had gotten in, “This? Oh, yes, thank you.” 

He snagged more of her food, grinning at her, although something in his face looked like he was thinking precautiously, “Well people like us should stick together, yes?” He said slowly, as though feeling her out.

“Consorts and accountants?” 

He took one of her reports and a spare pen, correcting her grammar. “I’m not yet a consort.” 

She saw what he was doing and tucked away the reports with anything other than innocuous information into a desk drawer. 

“Is that your goal then?” She asked, not looking up from her ledger book.

He shrugged, “Sure,” he said just crossing out an entire sentence, “Can’t hurt can it?” 

“Hmm.” was her only reply, not certain if she agreed or disagreed with him. 

XXXXX

Khovus had not ever again brought up leaving Tega in a less dangerous home. But she had not forgotten about it. It sprang up in her mind every time she hurt herself trying to do something all of her peers found as easy as breathing. She remembered it every time another elf her age came back from a successful coming of age hunt. She thought of it every time she bathed with the others and saw all of their dark tattoos while her body was pale and unadorned. 

She was the oldest one in the tribe who had not completed her hunt and she was not foolish enough to even try. She knew just which plants to eat and which to leave alone, she knew exactly how many meals each kill would last. There were many things that she knew, but how to survive on her own with only a spear was not one of them. 

But what would happen if she never completed it? Would she remain a child in the eyes of her people forever? Would she be forced to go and die in the attempt? She felt that there was so much more to be seen and to be understood before she died. She certainly didn’t want to fall to a wayward animal.

Perhaps she should ask, really ask, to be left somewhere else. Wouldn’t that be more fair to her father. She knew he was growing desperate with her. How much easier would it be for him if his only children were the surefooted twins and hunter extraordinaire Mieka? Sometimes she thought of leaving all on her own, but she couldn’t. First of all, she wouldn’t survive the trip, having no earthly idea where an established town was. Second, her father wouldn’t be able to stomach it. Hadn’t her mother left? She had been too young when it had happened to really remember any reason. But she knew her mother had yelled and her father had cried. As much as she dreaded the life it might entail, she worried that it might be her duty to stay right where she was. 

But it was getting harder and harder. The twins were taller than her now, and lean and strong. And they had finished their hunt the week before. That had been a blow for her, outpaced by her younger brothers. But they were kind about it, they were unfailingly kind to her, if a little patronizing. 

They were slowly becoming nearly as well inked as Meika. She felt guilty for not being happy for their accomplishments. They were her baby brothers, she was supposed to get more joy from their successes than they did.

At that very moment, while she sulked under a tree, her twin brothers dropped down on either side of her, seeming to materialize out of the air, “T!” Shikra beamed, “Come on we’re going-”

“-to swim in the river” Drindok finished for him. 

Their identicalness had only been exacerbated by their choices in tattoos. Although sometimes earning them at different times, their achievements were similar and their choices in how to demonstrate them on their skin the same. Their dark hair, a gift from their mother, stuck up in the same sort of swirl, their freckles hit the same spots. One body in two iterations. 

“No, thank you,” she said softly, “You two go on.” 

They grinned at each other and scampered off. She knew that they had only asked her because they felt like they should. She was no fun to take to the river, she could hardly swim. Besides, it was already getting dark, and she had somewhere she wanted to be when it got dark. 

She dusted herself off and glanced around, making sure Meika was not watching. Finding that he was not, she slunk out of camp and a little ways into the forest. She had stolen one of the swings used to get up into their home and gotten it up over the branches of a big sturdy tree. She clambered into it and pulled herself up, carefully getting out and onto the tree. 

By the time she was secured in her tree it really was dark out. From her vantage point she could actually see the stars, a sight that was blocked out by foliage from the ground. This was why she had come up here, she wanted to watch the stars. 

When she had first started coming up here she had brought discarded hides and strips of bark with light undersides along with ink stolen from the person who did the tattoos. She bided her time until it was well and truly dark waiting for it to get really dark. And then she began. 

She worked steadily, enjoying the silence of being on her own and methodically adding stars to her chart. She wondered how best to draw the blurred smudge of each star. But it felt nice to have something she felt like she wasn’t so bad at.

Her brother had told her that they moved a little bit every night. She wanted to know by how much and if they moved the same way and if there were any patterns and if they ever got back to where they were one time. 

“Tega?” 

She twisted around, nearly falling out of her tree. Her father peered at her, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing up here?” 

Two equally strong impulses warred at her. She both wanted to conceal her project and show it to him eagerly in hopes of him telling her how good she was at it. In the end, it didn’t matter, he reached out of his own accord and took one of her charts. 

“What is this?” He turned it this way and that and for a moment she felt a rush of childlike superiority that nearly made her lightheaded. 

“The stars,” she whispered, looking back up at them. 

He didn’t speak for a long time, but Tega watched his eyes move slowly over the chart then up to the stars. “Tega,” he said slowly, “Describe how the stars look.” 

She heard the trepidation in his voice but was determined to make him proud of her, “They’re bright blurs!” She said defensively, “Like little bright speckles with a bunch of blurs of light.” 

“You only drew fewer than thirty.” 

She hunched her shoulders, “Well I didn’t know how to draw the big blurs, so I just did the nice clear ones.” 

He reached out and brushed back her hair. His eyes were clouded with sadness, “Oh, Tega.” His voice was so full of disappointment.

“What!” She said, for the first time, perhaps in her life, nearly shrieking, “What! What’s wrong!” 

“There are so many stars, Tega, and nothing is blurred, it is only your eyes.” 

She had had just this. She had felt so sure she was doing so well and she hadn’t been able to do it again. Her body had let her down so thoroughly she thought she would come apart. 

Khovus watched her rock for a moment before howling, the pained shriek of a dying animal. 

He pulled her against his chest and she pounded her little fists ineffectually against him. 

XXXXX

Tega peered through her spectacles the corrections and crossings out Kar’Dritch had left on her papers in looping handwriting. 

“Thank you, Kar’Dritch,” she said beginning to rewrite the papers with her grammar improved.

“Just Dritch,” he said with shrug.

Of all things, the request to use this short and familiar name stoked a rush of empathy. She looked up at him, “Aren’t you tired?” 

He laughed, “Exhausted, but I’ll have to wait until tonight.” 

“Why?”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, “The soldier in my barracks I have a deal with to make sure I don’t get a knife in my back doesn’t have his shift to rest until tonight.” 

“Is that a deal you have for a particular reason or just a general precaution?” 

“There’s a soldier in my barracks whose old house got destroyed by mine, he lost an eye. I think he wants me dead.” 

She looked at him with soft eyes, “You can sleep in my room.” She said, holding out the key to her rooms.

He reached out then hesitated, eyeing her warily, “Why?” 

She gave him an appraising look, “Well, you have no idea how to do my work, so you can’t possibly be harboring dreams of replacing me, we have no personal qualms, I’m not trying to usurp you as Jarlaxle’s consort, so there is no reason I’d be in danger from you. And we are both short on allies.”

By the end of her speech, he was grinning at her, “So, are we allies then?” 

She tossed him the key. He had to stand up and reach all the way across the desk in order to catch it, her aim was so poor. He deftly spun it in his fingers, “Then I’m going to go have a nap.” He turned back when he was at the door, “Come get me if Jarlaxe gets up will you? I have to bring him breakfast.” 

“Sure thing.” 

He gave her a broad grin and disappeared. 

Tega smiled to herself and settled back into work, methodically rewriting her corrected reports. She hummed under her breath, picking occasionally at the food that Kar’Dritch had brought her. Dritch, she corrected herself with the tiniest tingling of contentedness at having one person besides her employer who was, at least, not openly hostile. 

She got three more hours to herself before Jarlaxle turned up. She would have never admitted it, but near the end she had sort of missed his company. He did say funny things sometimes, even if she forgot to let him know that she had heard him. 

He swung into the office, fully dressed again, boots clicking. He crossed the office and dropped into his plush office chair. He kicked his feet up onto his desk, grinning at Tega.

“You’ve been working hard I see!” 

“Yes, I have reports for you.” She said, shifting the tray Dritch that was sitting on top of some of her completed papers. 

He took them from her and smiled, “I see you found something to eat without thieving half of what I was brought.” 

“Oh, yes, Dritch brought some for me.” She thought she was getting nearly able to see how Jarlaxle ticked and was happy to find an opportunity to test herself, especially since she thought it might end well for her new ally. It helped that she was sure Jarlaxle wouldn’t be overjoyed about it and she was all for that at the moment. 

He looked up from his reports, brow furrowed. He carefully took off his hat and put in on the desk before addressing her, “Dritch?” 

“Yes,” she responded continuing to work back at her desk, “You know, Kar’Dritch.” 

He gave her a sarcastic look, “Yes, I am familiar with him.” he deadpanned. “He brought breakfast...for you?” 

“Mmm.” Tega idly agreed, erasing the numbers from her slate and doing her math again to check herself. 

“Did he mean-”

“No,” she cut him off, guessing where he was going, “He knew you were sleeping. He brought it for me. He helped me with my grammar.” 

“Why..what.” 

Tega shrugged, still not looking up from her work, “We talk.” 

“You...talk?” Jarlaxle asked 

“Yes,” she replied.

“Since when?” 

She pretended to ponder for a moment, “Since he gave me my lexicon.” 

“He’s giving you breakfast and gifts?” 

“I suppose that he is.” She went back to writing for a moment then perked up again in in mock surprise. “Oh!” She said, getting up, as though she had just remembered, “I have to go wake him up.” 

Jarlaxle looked doubly perplexed.

“I promised I’d get him up when you got into the office.” she explained. 

“You shouldn’t go into the barracks.” Jarlaxle said, half rising from his chair.

Tega turned back from the doorway, “Oh, he isn’t in the barracks.” And disappeared into the hall. 

Jarlaxle wasn’t entirely sure how to classify the sour feeling in his stomach, but he did not like the proceedings. The young and pretty drow boy brought his accountant lunch and fixed up her grammar? He glowered at her thick, black lexicon. He wondered if they were… no. 

Regularly he wouldn’t have had much of an issue with the private goings on of his employees, although he would like to know every detail. But he wasn’t happy with what he thought was developing. She was too trusting, small and pretty though he was, he was still a drow. And if last night had been an accurate display of her ability to defend herself he felt confident a well armed toddler could assassinate her.

Besides, as the one who had discovered her, and brought her down into the underdark, he thought it only right that if someone were going to discover if her entire pale body blushed as easily as her cheeks did, it was going to be him. Not that he had had any immediate plans of that nature, but it was the principle of the matter. 

Down the hall, Tega slipped inside her room. Kar’Dritch was sprawled across her bed, sleeping soundly. 

He opened a single eye when she closed the door and let out a disappointed groan. “Already?” He moaned. 

“Comfortable?” 

He snuggled deeper into the plush comforter and mattress that Jarlaxle had provided her with a grin. She kept a lamp lit in her room and his silver woven hair twinkled in the light. His eyes, when they weren’t red with infravision, were a light blue grey that was almost silver of themselves. He was indisputably beautiful. She shuffled, staring at her shoes.

Unwillingly, he pushed himself out of the bed and sat up, running his fingers through his hair to straighten it. 

“Thank you,” he said only a little stiffly, “For letting me sleep here.” 

She shrugged and looked down again, away from his sleep mussed hair. She knew that he was in her bed and she shouldn’t feel like she was intruding. But wrapped up in the covers he looked soft and intimate. She felt uncomfortable to be part of it. 

He stretched so languidly that he belly showed under his shirt before he got up all the way, “Well you have work to do,” he said, following her out. 

She locked the door behind her and returned to the office without him. 

Jarlaxle didn’t look up at her when she came back and quietly took her seat at her desk, resuming her work without comment. Jarlaxle, in fact, said nothing until, thirty two minutes later (and she was counting) a timid knock came at the door. 

“Come in,” He said, sparing a glance at Tega, who did not look up. 

Kar’Dritch came in, no longer looking sleepy and fuzzy, but being returned to rather shy and nearly too beautiful. Jarlaxle met him in front of the desk. 

“I brought something for you to eat, Captain.” He said, coaxing heat out of his final word. 

Jarlaxle took the tray and put it unconcernedly on the desk behind him, “Thank you, Kar’Dritch.” 

He smiled demurely and turned to go. Tega, looking up from her work, caught his eye and gave him a small, encouraging smile. 

It had been the keystone to Tega’s itty bitty ploy and it worked just like she had wanted it to. Jarlaxle, seeing the private look, pulled Dritch around by the arm, kissing the boy proprietarily, gripping his jaw and burying his other hand in his silvery hair. He released him, growling into his ear just loud enough for Tega to hear him, “Come to my chambers when Narbondel is dimmest.” 

Tega couldn’t tell if it was acting or genuine yet, but Dritch’s eyes burned with affection as he nodded, a small smile at his lips. 

When he left Jarlaxle sat himself back down and glowered at Tega momentarily, then he softened by degrees, finally saying, “I hope that didn’t upset you.” 

“Why would it have upset me?” Tega asked.

Jarlaxle raised the eyebrow that was over his patched eye, creating an off effect. “Well if you would like me to be more discreet…”

She sighed, “I suppose it is your office, I’ll just knock before I come in.” 

He gave an unconcerned sort of shrug, “If you have no qualms about sharing him, I certainly don’t and I’m sure he wouldn’t.” 

Tega sat straight up and blinked. Somehow, it had not crossed her mind that he would reach this conclusion. For a moment she nearly laughed at the absurdity of Jarlaxle’s assumption. But she realized with even more confused blinking, that he might not be entirely wrong. 

While he may be a little ahead of himself, she wasn’t really sure that Dritch would turn her down if she proposed...that sort of arrangement. She might have laughed. She almost did. She was in a situation where a handsome and powerful drow mercenary was asking her opinion on sharing a beautiful drow between their beds. 

“I - um - really?” It was all she could come up with to say.

He gave her a coquettish shrug, “Well, do you mind?” 

“Um...I suppose… No?” 

She wasn’t actually going to take him up on it, how could she possibly. The whole idea was ridiculous. She was going pink just thinking about it. She ducked her head down, scribbling at her work and refusing to look back at Jarlaxle so she didn’t notice that, now back in his chair, he was scowling rather deeply.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tega had drastically underestimated Jarlaxle’s ability to maintain a foul mood. It had been many days since their awkward conversation about Kar’Dritch and he still was not himself. He wasn’t exactly unkind, but his regular cheeriness had an unpleasant edge. It was rubbing Tega’s nerves raw. It was considerably less satisfying to hand in reports when he didn’t gush over their exactness. She had had the inventory done for a few days now but was unwilling to waste giving it to him while he was still upset. 

Finally, after fifteen days of distress, she caved and decided she must set him right. Weighing heavily on her decision as the thought that If it were hard for her to sit in the same room as him and give him paperwork then it can’t have been fun for Dritch to bed him. She waited impatiently through his bad mood all day until, mercifully, he sent away the drow guards and locked them in. 

“Jarlaxle?” She said shyly now that they had some privacy. 

“Yes?” He replied with a sharp look.

“I just….I just wanted to tell you…” She looked anywhere but him sheepishly. 

“What is it Tega?” 

“I just wanted to tell you that Kar’Dritch and I are...are not… we aren’t…” She wasn’t exactly sure how to say it. She rather hoped that he would step in and draw his own conclusions, but he didn’t seem inclined to help her out. “What I mean to say,” she continued, “Is that Kar’Dritch and I are not intimate. We never have been. We’re just...allies.” 

He looked at her for awhile then said, “I thought he was sleeping in your quarters.” 

She blushed, “Well...he was so tired and...and he said he couldn’t sleep in the barracks because someone there wants him dead and I just...he was so tired and…”

“Of course,” he said sarcastically, “So he was sleepy and you let him rest in your bed out of the kindness of your heart.” 

She pounded her small fist on her desk, “Yes!” 

He considered his words for a moment then said, “Why tell me then?” 

She pulled the sleeves of her sweater passed her hands, “Well you just...you just seemed so upset.” She finished lamely.

His eyes softened toward her for the first time in more than a week, “I think you are being too trusting, Tega.” 

“I will be fine.” She murmured.

His expression darkened, “Do you have any idea what drow are capable of?” He condescended. 

Her awkwardness disappeared in lieu of something else. She looked up at him, her body stiff and nearly shaking. Her eyes were shimmering suddenly behind her glasses, her hands were clenched into fists, when she spoke her voice was tight, “I- I” she stammered. Then as swiftly as she had stiffened, she swallowed and she exhaled, unclenching her fists and relaxing her shoulders. In a suddenly soft voice she said, “Perhaps you are right, Jarlaxle. Perhaps I do not.” 

“Be careful, Tega.” 

She tugged at her sleeves again, looking down at the desk, “I’m sorry I upset you, that wasn’t my intention. But...I have something...to make up for it.” 

“What’s that?” 

She shuffled over, the bound inventory clutched in her fingers. She was hoping Jarlaxle would appreciate it for what it was, even if he hadn’t seen it as important before. 

He took the book and flipped it open, turning the pages slowly. She hovered behind him moving from foot to foot. 

“What is thi-”

“An inventory!” she nearly shouted before he even had all of his words out, “I just...you gave me all of those horrible records and they were just useless and I thought if everything was all in one place. You would know all of your assets and and…”

“So this is a book writing down a few swords and trinkets?” 

She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms, looking down at them rather than at Jarlaxle, “Well...many swords and many trinkets.” 

He shrugged, unimpressed, “Very orderly,” he remarked dismissively. 

She felt like there was a stone in her belly, “If you would look through the whole thing you would see that I appraised the worth of each trinket and each sword and did the totals and I thought that maybe you would care to know how much your inventory was worth because you know as it is your soldiers could really walk off with nearly anything and it isn’t as though it isn’t worth any money and it is a little ridiculous of you to just put it away without really looking at it.” 

She said all of this very fast and under her breath in elvish. If it had not been for his translation spell, Jarlaxle would not have been able to keep up. As it was he could have laughed at her absurd combination of submission and defiance. But he did flip to the back at her estimations of the worth of his inventory, to humor her if nothing else. He took a moment to blink at the figure.

“Is this accurate, Tega?” staring at her.

“Y..yes?” The intensity of his gaze making her blush and look away. 

He got up and looked at her a hungry sort of grin on his lips, “That is...more gold than I expected.” 

“Well imagine how much of it was going missing with you none the wiser?” 

“Give me a guess.” He said, approaching her. His hands were out but he didn’t seem to know what to do with them.

“Well...I...I did make a guess...its in Appendix D...I just looked at the reports of them made at different times and um...extrapolated. But I haven’t actually been to the armory or store rooms so...so I don’t know how accurate it is.” 

He was right in front of her, “What’s your guess. I have a hunch it will be fairly accurate.” 

She nearly backed away from him, hunching down and tilting as far back as she could without moving her feet. She wasn’t sure how he would take this part. He could be angry that so much had likely gone missing. 

In a nearly unhearably soft voice she said, “..half?” 

“Half?” he asked mystified, “You mean I could double that estimation in the back?” 

“Um…well yes, theoretically.” 

He had a manic sort of smile inching up his face and Tega was stuck between catching on to his enthusiasm and backing away. 

“You are brilliant, Tega,” he said. His voice was not his typical high and cheery one. It was low and rough.

Tega clutched at her arms, smiling despite herself, “Well...it wasn’t much…” When she looked up he was right in front of her, eyes bright and smile still a little manic. She tried her best not to flinch away. 

He hovered near her, slender hands almost touching her shoulders, “Any sort of special project you want to work on, just tell me what you need.” His voice was nearly hungry. 

She looked suddenly up into his eyes, and he was much closer to her than she had thought he would be, she startled, “Jarlaxle?” She said too suddenly.

“Yes?” He asked in that same low tone. Eyes glimmering so close to her that she could smell the spice of his cologne. 

She hesitated for a moment, eyes moving in jolts between his hands and his mouth and his eyes. Then her words tumbled over themselves in a rush, “If I asked you to take me back to the surface would you take me?” 

He rolled back on his heels, deflating, smile faltering, “Do you want to leave?” His voice sounded hurt and disappointed. 

She couldn’t look at him, “Just...just if I asked you- if I asked you to take me back to where you had found me, would you take me back?”

“I thought that I told you that I would when I brought you down here.” 

“But did you mean it?” she whispered, “Would you take me back right now?” 

“Did something happen Tega?” he asked, a sharp edge on his voice.

“Just tell me!” she didn’t yell, but her soft voice sounded desperate. 

He regarded her, grin gone entirely, “Yes, Tega, I would keep my word. If you truly want to go back, I’ll take you. Do you...need any help getting your things in order?” 

He watched the tension sink out of her shoulders and her brow relax. He could barely stand to watch, had she been so miserable?

“No..No…” she stammered, her voice returned to its gentleness, “That is to say, I don’t want to leave. I would like to keep working for you.” 

He was taken aback, “Oh.” 

“I just...I just wanted to know.” She gave him a fleeting and shy smile then slid passed him back to her desk. 

XXXXX

Tega really was trying to be in a good mood. She had no right to be feeling so foul. It was her brother’s wedding celebrations. She should have been dancing with her family. But she had never been much good at dancing. 

He had made his commitments to a very pretty female nearly as well tattooed as he was and nearly as good of a hunter. Tega had even seen her beat him in a spar once. He had asked her to commit to him while he was still laid out on his back afterward. The whole camp had thought it quite touching. 

But she had had to spend the ceremony with the children. She was far older than all of them, but she had not finished her hunt and thus couldn’t stand with the adults. That had put her into a mood that had yet to lift, so instead of celebrating with her family, she was pouting near the edge of the camp. 

She was happy for him, he was shining and radiant dancing with his lover, Trilifeil. They had gotten the same tattoo, to mark their union, the only one of color. Bright blue strips that went down their inner arms then looped around their wrists. Now they were still bloody, but they would be beautiful when they healed. 

Tega closed her eyes, trying to enjoy listening to the sounds of merriment. 

The singing was too loud, the thrum of the drums and the pounding of dancing feet too overwhelming. She never heard them coming. 

All she heard was the revelry in the camp, the hoots of laughter and merry catcalls at the new couple. She smelled the roasting meat and felt the beating of the drums in her bones. And then a hand wrapped around her mouth. 

She tried to jerk away, her eyes shooting open, but was restrained too fully. She was pulled back, out of the camp. She tried to scream but could not. Her hands were pulled behind her and tied fiercely.The hand was replaced with a dirty gag. It was all done so quickly, just a few seconds by hands very practiced at tying wrists and securing gags. 

She was left where she was, deemed unthreatening. She could see them now. There were many. Many more than the one who had grabbed her. Dressed dark and armed to the teeth. They were all around her, moving more silently than she could believe. Their eyes shining crimson and in the dim firelight pouring out of the camp, their black skin glimmered.

XXXXX

Tega was awoken by a savage knocking at her door. She sat up in bed, scrabbling for her glasses. She got up, pulling a dressing robe on over her pajamas and approached the door cautiously. Before she got to it she picked up the amulet Jarlaxle had give her and slipped it over her neck. 

The knocking came again, violent and pounding. 

“Um - Who...who is it?” her voice was comically faint. 

From the other side of the door issued a desperate voice, “It’s Dritch. Let me in! Please, Tega. Hurry.” 

Halfway through opening the door she remembered what Jarlaxle had said about being too trusting. But there was nothing for it. The door was already open and Dritch was coming inside. 

She stepped back and he stumbled through the doorway. 

“Close- close the door!” He hissed.

She did as she was bade, “Dritch? Dritch are you alright?” 

He tried to straighten up and cringed.

She lit a lamp and he flinched at the sudden light. He was bent almost double, clutching his ribs. One of his eyes was swollen shut and blood trickled from the side of his mouth and coursed from his nose. 

“Kar’Dritch!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. She checked the locks on her door, secure, then turned back to him. It took her a moment to get her thoughts together enough to figure out what to do. One moment she had been sleeping soundly and now there was a bleeding drow in her bedroom, dripping on the carpet. 

She nodded to herself and set her jaw. In a soft command she said, “Go to the bed, Dritch.” 

He seemed nervous to even be there, shaking, unswollen eye wide. He glanced between the bed and the door. His eyes fell on the many locks and then the amulet around her neck. He tried one more time to stand straight and gasped in pain. A small sneer fell upon his bloody lips then resigned himself and sat on the bed. He looked so defeated. 

Tega poured some water from a jug she had on her nightstand into a basin, taking out a cloth and dampening it. 

She approached him gently, he was trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. She took his hand and led it away from his face and looked at her with such anger and hatred that she took a step back. 

But then the fight went out of him and his eyes dropped to the floor. He let his hands fall limply into his lap. In a horribly soft voice he said, “What would you have me do?” 

Timidly, she tilted his head up. Inexplicably he seemed to be trying to keep his expression pleasant, almost pleased. She lifted the cloth to his face and began dabbing off the blood, careful not to jar his clearly broken nose. 

She got most of the blood off his face and rinsed her rag out. “I’m really sorry, Dritch, this is going to hurt, are you ready?” He didn’t seem ready, he seemed stunned. She didn’t wait, but took his nose in her fingers and shifted it back in place. She thought he would want it to heal straight. He flinched mightily, but didn’t call out.

“Here,” She said giving him a fresh rag sodden with chilled water, “Hold this on your eye.” 

He took it with trembling fingers, his blue eyes now following her movements with something like confusion. 

“I’m going to unbutton your shirt, alright?” She said, “To look at your ribs.” 

Solemnly he nodded, allowing her to peel his shirt off of him. She clucked her tongue when she saw his torso, riddled with bruises and bleeding. She touched his ribs softly and he flinched. 

“I think they’re broken, Dritch,” She said softly, “But they don’t seem displaced.” 

She cleaned those too in cool water, “I don’t think there is anything else to do for you except to rest. You should lay down, I’ll get you more cool rags to keep the swelling down.” 

Hesitantly he laid down in her bed, muscles still tense. 

“This is it then, Tega?” He said, his normally melodious voice stripped of its regular lilt.“You’re going to patch me up and let me rest here?”

“You aren’t all that badly damaged,” She said, laying cold cloths over his bruises “A little rest and you should be alright. I don’t think there is anything else I can do to help you. I wish I had some healing potions, but I don’t.”

“I just...I thought you were going to -” He cut himself off.

“Why would you come here if you didn’t think I’d help?” 

He shrugged shallowly, “I was pretty sure you would at least not kill me.” 

“We’re allies,” she said softly, kindness seeping into her voice, “What use are you to me if you all banged up?” She pushed the hair back from his face and he peered at her through one eye, then closed it and exhaled deeply. 

In hardly more than a whisper he asked, “Can I stay here tomorrow night?” 

“Of course.” 

He seemed to be waiting for her to continue, “You would give me a healing potion if you had one?” 

“Of course I would, Dritch,” she said, “You’re wounded.” 

He didn’t say anything else, but let himself fall asleep.

Tega made sure he was really sleeping and curled up very small on the other side of the bed, making sure not to disturb him. 

When she woke up in the morning he was already awake, lying motionless on the other side of the bed. 

She got up blearily, “How do you feel?”

“Not so bad,” he said, pushing himself up, “I’ve had worse.” He still could barely stand straight but she supposed there was nothing for it. There was no sort of brace that she knew how to construct that would help him with broken ribs. 

She got up and started taking out clothes, stacking them neatly, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” 

“I think that I’ll live, but I need to go, I have place that I am expected.” He said and opened the door to leave. 

“Be safe.” Tega said in a rush. 

He turned back and looked at her, tilting his head and smiling, “You as well, Tega.” 

When he was gone she locked the door behind him and changed into real clothes, getting herself ready then slipping down the hall to the office. She was a flurry of concern the entire way there. She was unsure if she should tell Jarlaxle, what would he do about it? Would he care? Was Dritch’s abilities in...personal attentions enough to earn him Jarlaxle’s protection? Whatever she did, she would have to wait until the drow guards were gone, she couldn’t expose him to his fellow mercenaries. 

When she arrived in the office, she was momentarily distracted from thoughts of Dritch, unable as she was to do anything for him right then. She began turning to her desk and she discovered that her desk was no longer there. It had been replaced. No longer was there a rickety and small desk that rocked back and forth nor an uncomfortable little stool. It had been replaced with a spacious desk with curling legs and many drawers. Behind it was a smaller imitation of Jarlaxle’s plush chair. In the same style but daintier and shorter with light blue cushions where his were a deep purple. 

She turned from staring at the new desk to Jarlaxle, who beamed at her from his. 

“Yours looked so small and dingy! It was destroying the ambiance of the room.” 

He sprung up from his chair and nearly bounded to the other desk. There were lights hovering above it in place of the dim lamp she had had before. He grinned at her and took one of them in his hand, moving it through the air. It stayed right where he put it. “Clever aren’t they!” 

She scurried to the desk next to him and tested out moving the lights. They were slightly warm orbs that allowed themselves to be moved around wherever one might want them. She could have squealed.

“That isn’t all,” he said close to her ear. “Do you see the slates on either side of the desk?” 

Indeed, across the top of the desk there were two slabs, one on either side of the blotter. 

“Lift them.” He whispered excitedly. 

She glanced at him, then reached out and lifted the slabs into the air. Like the orbs they hung precisely where she left them. She looked at him with shining eyes.

He shrugged, “You always have so many things out at once.” 

She really couldn’t help herself. He had been wearing her thin with his bad mood for weeks and Dritch being attacked had compounded her unease. So she just threw her arms around him in a hug. 

She released him almost immediately, before he even had a chance to reciprocate. It was more disappointing than it should have been. She had underestimated the importance of small physical affections while she had been on the surface. Ariel, the baker’s daughter, throwing her arms around her in excitement, the baker herself patting her hand in appreciation. Strangers touching her shoulder delicately as they brushed passed her. She very much would have liked a lingering hug. But as much as she might have wanted to let him return her hug, she let him go, remembering the guards hiding in their extra dimensional cupboards. She stepped away from him and sat down at her new desk. She could have purred. The new seat was so cozy.

“Thank you, Jarlaxle.” She let her drow slip and said it in elvish so that her thank you would come across sincere. 

He, looking a little startled at being so swiftly embraced and let go, only grinned at her.

XXXXX

The drow soldiers left her tied and thrown sideways against a tree outside of camp. She couldn’t make more than a soft rustle, nothing loud enough to warn her family. She wanted to kick a tree or snap branches. But she thought they’d just kill her for that. If the chances of saving her family had been greater she might have done it anyway. But she did not. 

She could only watch the drow, silhouetted against the bonfire as they circled the camp. It was not a sight one was likely to forget, the revelry of her people replete with the laughter of children and giddy singing, overlaid by black skinned drow drawing weapons without a sound. 

She wanted to close her eyes. She didn’t want to see it. But she couldn’t look away. They moved as one. Together they launched into motion, blots of darkness invading the light and music of the dancing. 

The music jarred in the middle of a melody and screams ripped through the laughter. Tega’s entire body yearned to push time back a few moments and let them sing and dance forever. It didn’t seem real. It could not possibly be happening. 

Her people did not fall easy, but they were unarmed. The hands of mothers were cut to pieces as they defended their children, the unprotected stomachs of fathers relieved of their contents. The tang of blood filled Tega. 

She could see her people swing into the trees, dropping spears to their companions on the ground. Her father. She could see her father. He had no armor, none of them did. His chest, well scarred and well tattooed glittered in the firelight, long spear swinging through the air. They could not get near him. 

Hope blossomed, timid and afraid, in Tega’s heart. They could fight them off. The grief would be terrible, but all would not be lost. No one could defeat her father. 

Across the camp, a drow stood like a shadow, bored sneer on his features. He lifted his arm toward her father. He held something small in his hand. The tiniest of bolts struck her father. At first nothing happened. At first he continued his onslaught, felling drow and roaring. But then he stumbled. 

Tega flinched forward, toward him. He slipped limp to the ground and the drow fell upon him reducing her father to bloody flesh. 

Tega didn’t see the rest of the battle. Her eyeline was limited by trees leaving her to only stare at the heap that had been her father. His blood soaked into the ground.

Tega did not collapse and did not scream. The terror seeped from her bones and stillness crept in in its place. If they could fell her father her people were lost. She didn’t know if he would approve of her thoughts, didn’t know if he would have held her down and cut the black lines of cowardice into her brow if he knew, but he was dead. If the unmatched Chieftain Khovus, her everpresent father, could be slaughtered like a wounded capybara, then fighting would help no one. If she fought she would die. So she would not fight. Because dying would not do anyone any good. 

XXXXX

It was impossible for Jarlaxle to have not noticed Dritch’s swollen eye and ginger breathing when he came in to deliver breakfast but he neither said nor did anything. Tega watched him carefully for signs of concern but either he didn’t have any or he kept well concealed. 

When he left, having said nothing, there was nothing that Tega could do but return to her work. She didn’t dare even a questioning look, not knowing if he would be in danger if she revealed his need for protection to the drow guards looking on. 

The rest of the day she had no opportunities to ask him about it. He spent all of his remaining hours in meetings. He disappeared for a few hours to go to the House of a matron mother and when he returned he called in Kimmuriel and his other lieutenant Rai-guy Bondalek, an eerie wizard that Tega had never seen not glowering. 

This presented Tega with an entirely new concern. She did her best to immerse herself in her work. Drawing out a complicated chart for an idea that she had thought of. She was glad she had a grand design to distract her during their meeting. They frightened her quite badly and she didn’t particularly want to advertise that. Kimmuriel especially, who Jarlaxle had called a psion. He could see what she was thinking, or change what she was thinking. She wasn’t sure the exact parameters of his abilities but she didn’t like that he had them. Although the idea that the ability to overpower fighters with the power of your mind she was a little fond of. 

They seemed to be ignoring her, discussing something with Jarlaxle in a fast paced drow that she could not passively follow. But she felt something tickling at her brain. She wasn’t stupid enough not to know what it was. 

When Jarlaxle had first told her about Kimmuriel, she had pondered for a long time how she might help herself against him. She had not come up with more than one rather feeble idea. But a feeble defense was better than no defense, so defiantly, she took out clean papers and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. There were quite complicated mathematics that she had been taught but never found a reason to use them. If their practical application was mental warfare then so be it, this was at least the sort of battle she was equipped for. 

She readied her pen and set it to paper, writing out the equations with neat precision. She had not been able to practice this enough that she could do it with only part of her concentration, which for this purpose was ideal. The ink filled the page, with only a few crossings out. She had forgotten how much she liked this. It felt like it set her brain right, made it click and whir. Each step was sensical and necessary, entirely indisputable. 

With relish she resolved the first problem she had set herself. The numbers coming together like music. 

In the middle of the meeting, in the middle of a sentence, Kimmuriel turned in his seat to look at her, face impassive but eyes blistering. She lifted her head and met his gaze, her expression equally impassive. Both Jarlaxle and Rai-guy stopped talking, Rai-guy furrowing his brow and looking at Kimmuriel with mild interest. Jarlaxle was flickering his gaze between the two of them with entertained concern. 

She gave an unconcerned little ruffle and continued with her calculations. With not a glimmer of change on his face, he turned back to the meeting. Hesitatingly, they continued and so did she. 

More than an hour later, when Jarlaxle had finally ushered his lieutenants out of his office hours later, he kicked his feet up on his desk and looked at Tega, who had gotten so immersed in her math that she had almost forgotten they were in the office in the first place. 

Jarlaxle cleared his throat so she looked up at him, jumping when she realized Kimmuriel and Rai-guy were no longer there. 

“Yes?” She asked. 

“What was that?” 

“What was what?” 

He made a disbelieving face, “Between you and my psion.” 

She lifted her chin loftily, “He was trying to read my mind.” 

He waited for a moment then waved his fingers in a circle, imploring her to continue. 

She straightened her glasses, trying to look supremely unconcerned, “I let him,” she said with a touch of defiance, then softer almost as an aside she added, “while I did calculations too complicated for him to follow.” 

Jarlaxle threw his head back laughing, laughing so hard his hat fell off of his head, “Tega!” he exclaimed when he had his breath back, “You are truly a surprise and a delight.” 

XXXXX

The battle was over then. They had no weapons against those little crossbows. One of them pulled Tega up from where she lay and tossed her into the camp with the others. From there she could see drow, who smirked and talked amongst themselves openly now, though she couldn’t understand them. They were restraining unconscious elves, stripping them of jewelry and weapons as well as looting their own dead companions. 

The bizarre calm still sat inside her bones, like all of this was happening to another girl and nothing more for her than something to watch. 

The drow she thought might be their leader was crouching before her father’s body, fiddling with something, when he stood he held Khovus’ bracelet. It was made of solid gold, crafted to look like branches looping around a wrist. It was the mark of the Chieftain, supposed to go to Meika. It had been Khovus’ mothers before him, her mother’s before that. There were thirty names that Tega knew of her peoples’ leaders. They stretched back an eon. The bracelet did not belong in his hands. She thought it should hurt him, burn his ebony hand, but he dropped it in a bag of other wealth with no concern. 

Tega forced herself to look around. She had to know who was alive. She didn’t know what use it was, but she felt more than understood that knowing more would never hurt. 

Meika lived, tethered and gagged by a tree, Trilifeil, his new wife, lived also though she was bleeding rather badly. The twins were both alive. They were even awake, though very tightly bound. There were thirteen children, twenty four female adults, twenty one male adults, and her. 

That meant that there were fifteen dead adults and no dead children. Tega could not see the two infants who had been sleeping in little hammocks in the tree houses above, but it made her heart sick. 

It did not take long for her curiosity to be sated. A drow appeared at the edge of one of the platforms, he held a child in each arm, being strangely gentle. For a moment she thought he would bring them down. Their mother’s lived. She could see them stretching at their bonds toward their children. One of their fathers lived and he wriggled at his bonds, groaning into his gag. 

The drow yelled down at the commander who had taken the bracelet. The commander looked up, shading his eyes to see what the soldier had found. He shrugged and yelled back a response. 

The soldier made a motion that it took Tega’s brain a moment to understand. Then the babies were falling. Time did not stretch out so that Tega could come to terms with the slaughter of the infants. It did not lengthen to give time for their parents to send prayers of farewell through their bonds. They fell like rocks and hit the ground with agonizing thumps. 

Seventeen dead. 

When they had all awoken from the sleep induced by the bolts, they were lined up. The commander walked passed them all, looking on with a critical eye. He stopped in front of the twins, looking back and forth between them. His eyes lit up and he grinned maliciously, “iiyola*,” he grinned. 

A soldier came forward, clipping dark clamps over each twins’ wrist. He chose a few more, the most beautiful among them. He hardly glanced at Tega when he walked passed her. 

The company of drow split into two, one half collecting the elves selected by their commander and pulling them off into the dark forest. Tega could see Meika pulling at his bonds, rageful shouts muffled by his gag. Trying to tear his way to Trilifeil who was being taken by the embarking drow. But for once he was as ineffectual as Tega. 

The other 49 of them were led off in the opposite direction, tied together like cattle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: * Translation: Treasures
> 
> Thanks for all of the reviews! They definitely spur me on to keep updating! And a big thanks to whomever recommended my story to TvTropes!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tega didn’t want to admit it but her bout with Kimmuriel had worn her out. Her brain felt sluggish and muted. She felt in no mood to angle a healing potion for Dritch out of Jarlaxle or wheedle any sort of promises for Dritch’s protection. What she wanted was to go to bed. She was wrung out. She understood neither how nor why the drow let themselves live like this. If she were on the surface and if Jarlaxle were an elf, she would just ask him to help her friend and he would help her.

In an overwhelming moment she remembered that she had miles and miles of rock above her head and darkness pinning her in all around. She remembered that every single person in this city would cut her to pieces except for the person right in front of her and a half beaten consort. 

Tears pushed at her eyes and her throat ached. But she sat very still and did her careful math in the ledgers. If the hours would only pass until the guards were gone, she could ask Jarlaxle her favor and get some kind of rest. She would not, of course, turn Dritch away from her room when he needed her, but she sorely wished she could have some time locked in there to herself. She needed to wind down and let her guard down for awhile. 

Finally, finally, Jarlaxle waved the guard out of his office. 

“Jarlaxle,” she said immediately when the last of them was gone. 

“No, Tega.” 

She blinked, “Wh-what?” 

He took off his hat and looked at her sternly, “I’m not helping the boy.” 

After all that agonized waiting, all the dread that had sat in her stomach all day, all the planning she had done to try to get him a healing potion or some measure of protection, Jarlaxle was just shooting her down. 

Her shoulders shook, “Why not? I thought-”

He shrugged, “Yes, he’s pretty, but he’s replaceable and he needs to be able to help himself. I can’t stop every revenge plot in a cave full of mercenary drow. If he doesn’t want to be attacked, he should kill his attacker.” 

“Please!”

“Tega,” he responded in a louder and harsher voice, hitting the palm of his hand against the desk. His words careened out as though he could no longer keep them to himself, “Do you not see that he is using you? Do you not understand that while you might think that the two of your are friends he feels nothing for you?” 

Tears were prickling at her eyes, “How could you possibly know that?” 

“He is a drow! A weak drow who relies on the favors and protection of others. He has realized that you will help him without asking for anything in return. He has been using you and will continue to use you.” 

“You don’t know him-”

He laughed. It wasn’t his regular loud and merry laugh that was filled with bells and made her smile regardless of what he was laughing at. It was cold and brief and befitting his complexion. “I do know him, Tega. He is a drow and it doesn’t matter what tender things he’s said to you or the sweet smiles the two of you share, he is using you.” 

She fought back desperately, “How do you know that I didn’t ask for something in return!” She shouted rather shrilly, standing up.

He stood up as well, sneering at her, “Did you? Do you have someone lurking in the Underdark that he will murder for you? Some item you needed stolen? Did you take him, Tega?” he asked ruthlessly, “Because you should have. You took him into your room, you protected him, you made yourself an enemy and you asked for nothing in return. You should have forced him onto his knees or threw him to the spiders!” His voice was rising with emotion now. 

She shuddered back, “What do you mean I made an enemy?” she asked, focusing on the least terrible of his accusations. 

He lifted his hands in disbelief, “Someone was trying to kill him and you harbored him. Do you think they would thank you for that? Do you understand what that means?” 

“No!” she shouted, “No Jarlaxle I don’t! It doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t you people supposed to be pragmatic doesn’t your whole culture condemn emotion!” 

“Yes, which is why-”

“No!” she shouted over him. It made him blink and look startled at her fury. Angry tears were coursing down her cheeks, “Revenge is emotional, Jarlaxle. That drow doesn’t have anything to fear from Kar’Dritch. Torture and sex and hate are all emotions! You aren’t superior beings that are tougher or smarter than anyone else! You are whining black skinned children! You act like you’re so cold but you’re just children asking for immediate rewards and brazen power dynamics. Do you not understand that friendship-”

Jarlaxle snarled, cutting her off, “Friendship is weakness!” 

“No it is not!” she said, stamping her foot and crossing the office at him.

He circled his desk, even his unimpressive height towering over her, “What can your friendship do, Tega? How will your friendship protect him? He cannot live in your bedroom and you cannot raise a blade in his defense.” 

Her entire body shook, “If I got him a healing potion at least he wouldn’t be such an easy target!” 

Jarlaxle laughed at her again, his cold and terrible laugh. “Where will you get that, Tega? Will you go out into the streets of Menzoberranzan and hunt out an apothecary?” He leaned toward her, sneering, “There is nothing you can do.” 

She lunged, scooping up a pretty desk weight that sat beside her on Jarlaxle’s desk. Instinctually he leapt back, sword growing from nothing, raising it in defense. He nearly cut her down and only just had time to stop himself before he did.

Because she didn’t swing it at him as he had expected. She laid her hand on the desk and brought the weight down, smashing the bones in her right hand. 

The sword disappeared from Jarlaxle’s grip and the sneer fell from his lips. 

She glowered at him, tears staining her cheeks, her now broken hand clutched against her chest. Sobs escaping her in little gasps.

“You won’t be able to write.” He said, the softness coming back into his voice, “But you knew that.” He moved toward her, lifting his hand slowly. 

He touched her jaw with his fingers, thumb wiping away her tears. She thought he would have raged, but the anger he had had moments before had dissolved. His voice was soft again, “I’ll have to heal your hand, but you know that too.” 

She didn’t say anything, just looked up at him, cradling her hand. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, taking her shattered hand in his own. 

“Yes.” She breathed. 

He firmly uncurled her hand. “This will hurt more,” he said. He felt along each of the tiny broken bones, snapping them back into place. There was no ruthless enjoyment in his eyes as he realigned her bones. It made her almost regret what she’d done.

She shook with the pain and fresh tears fell from her eyes. 

When he was finished he drew a slim bottle from his pocket, “Drink this.” 

She took it,struggling one handed with the cork for a moment and then drinking a small sip, leaving most of the contents in the bottle. She felt it burn down her throat and through her veins. She felt it touch the broken points of her bones and begin to knit them together, but she had not drunk enough to heal her completely. Her hand ached still, but she didn’t drink any more. 

He didn’t stop her from pocketing the rest of the bottle. 

“You’d better go,” Jarlaxle said, “I’m sure he’s waiting for you.” 

XXXXX

The name of the drow commander was Dor’rolik Montplair. Little Tega, tethered to the elf in front of her and the elf behind her had listened until she was sure that was what he was called. She had muttered it under her breath until, exotic though it was, she would not forget. 

That first day that they had been marched out she didn’t cry as some of the others did. She was tied up with the adults, although she didn’t belong there, clearly too large for the drow to consider her a child. They were walked for hours and hours, through the whole rest of the night. The whole elves did their best to support the wounded, keeping them moving and quiet. It was a long night. 

Right before dawn the feet of the children all tied together had begun to drag and some of them had begun to wail. They were too small to understand to stay quiet, taken down by all of the horrors they had seen.

When the line of children stopped moving, unresponsive to their parents’ pleas to keep going, the three drow driving them bared their swords and swung. Tega flinched, horror sinking into her. Why would they bother to take them this far just to kill them?

But they did not, just bit them with the flats of their blades, driving them forward. They laughed and leapt after the children, flashing their swords until the children were sprinting as well as they could bound together as they were, tripping over roots and banging against each other. Tears and shouts dragged from their little throats in equal measure.

Their distress spurned on the rest of the elves, terrified to see their children so abused. The drow hooted with laughter as the bound elves tried to reach their children and offer them some measure of protection. They shouted at the elves in drow in tones both angry and amused until the entire caravan of captives fell to the ground. The drow didn’t bother hauling them all back up. It was there that they made camp. That first night there was no food for the elves. 

Tega watched the drow make camp. They set up a small fire as dawn crept up the skies, roasting meat she wasn’t familiar with and talking among themselves. She had eyes only for the commander. 

He prowled around the captives, checking the tightness of their restraints and barking at drow to bandage the worst of the elves’ wounds. 

A slim drow male crouched in front of Meika, ostensibly to bandage the puncture through his bicep. Tega wanted to shake her head at Meika, tell him to accept the medical treatment, but of course she could not. 

As Tega knew he would, he jutted forward, smashing his forehead against the drow medic’s and knocking him onto his back. Meika could not get on top of him with his bonds, but he kicked over and over again. Tega could hear the crunching of the drow’s ribs as he tried to scrambled back. 

Immediately the commander was upon Meika. He raised a terrible whip with angry barbs glittering on the ends, bringing it down on Meika’s exposed back. Meika shouted into his gag, wriggling back from the medic.

The commander did not stop. He drew the whip back so many times, ripping it into Meika’s back until it there was more torn flesh than whole. 

If this did anything to Tega, she did not show it in her demeanor. She did not lash out to defend her brother. But the elf next to her took her hand surreptitiously, squeezing it tightly as Meika bore his lashings. Grateful, Tega squeezed back. 

After Meika, the rest of them took their medical attention without complaint, letting the drow apply salves and bandages as they wished. 

They were not unbound to sleep but had to make do leaning against shoulders, wrists rubbing raw. The drow, leaving a few awake to keep watch, bundled themselves up to rest throughout the day. 

“I will not be sleeping with these dark elves circling about us,” one of the elves whispered within Tega’s earshot. 

She furrowed her brow. It seemed to her like the drow were going to do whatever they wanted to them whether they were asleep or not. So Tega curled up as best she could, deciding it was best to be rested and alert when they started moving again. Obligingly the elf next to her allowed her to use him to rest against. 

When she was leaning against him he whispered into her ear, “Don’t worry, little one, your brother will be alright.” 

Tega opened her eyes and looked up at him, “No he won’t.” 

XXXXX

When Tega reached the door to her rooms, Dritch was waiting for her, arm clamped around his ribs. She didn’t say anything, just unlocked her door and let him in. She was glad that it was not Dritch who was the psion. She didn’t want him to hear how hard she was finding it not to think about Jarlaxle’s snarled advise that she ought to force him to his knees. 

“Here,” she said barely looking at him and thrusting out the healing potion. 

“Is this?” He asked, “Is this a healing potion?” 

“Yes,” She said briefly, “Drink it.” 

He didn’t hesitate, uncorking the phial and drinking it down. Tega watched his eye heal and his body relax. He twisted experimentally, grinning. 

“How do you feel?” Tega asked softly. Her hand still throbbed, but she had no intention of sharing just how she got ahold of the potion. He was alright and that was enough. 

“Perfect!” He said, touching his now mended nose, “Where did you get that?”

“From Jarlaxle,” Tega answered. 

He looked almost proud of himself. Tega tried not to flinch. 

“I should thank him,” he said with glittering eyes. 

“I think you should let it go,” Tega told him seriously. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to catch her eye. 

She continued to look away, busying herself with her back to him, “Nothing is wrong, Dritch,” she whispered. “What are you going to do about your attacker?” 

He looked around and, seeing no other chairs, reclined on the bed, “Well I should probably kill him.” 

“Yes,” She said, shuddering, “You probably should.” 

“Tega, you aren’t alright,” He said bluntly, “What’s wrong with your hand?” 

She realized she had been cradling it and dropped it at once, “Nothing is wrong with my hand. How will you kill him? You can’t beat him in combat.” 

He got up and turned her around by the shoulder, she jumped, backing up into the wall and pulling her hand defensively against her stomach, but she had no where to go. He took her hand in his own and inspected it, “Your hand is hurt, almost broken.” 

“Yes,” She said, taking it back. 

“Were you attacked?” He asked, “Was it Zarel? The one who attacked me, he would have only one eye.” 

“No,” Tega said shortly, “It was no one, let it go.” 

Dritch tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed, “Jarlaxle?” 

She rounded on him, “I asked you to let it go, Kar’Dritch!”

“Is that why Jarlaxle gave you the healing potion? Why didn’t you use it? Does he know who attacked you? Will there be retribution?”

“I did, Dritch!” she nearly shouted, “I asked him for a healing potion for you and he wouldn’t give one to you so I broke my hand because I knew he would give one to me!” 

He reeled back, “You broke your own hand?” He asked in a soft voice, “To get me a healing potion?” Tega didn’t know if she was imagining it because of what Jarlaxle had said to her or not, but he they way he looked at her was unsettling. 

She pushed her hair back behind her ears, “You called your attacker Zarel, is he going to want me dead now too?” 

“It is...a possibility,” Dritch said still regarding her with an odd expression, “But Jarlaxle has made it pretty clear that you’re off limits, I don’t know if he would risk it.” 

“Then you can pay be back for taking you in by killing him.” 

He smirked, “That works for me.” 

She crossed her arms, “I’m very tired, Dritch. Are you still going to stay?” 

“No,” he said, “Regardless of the means, I should show Jarlaxle my appreciation.” 

She didn’t stop him. He gave her another grin that nearly made her flinch and flung the door open, slipping out of it. But he didn’t make it far, leaping back almost immediately having nearly collided with Kimmuriel Oblodra.

It was unclear if Kimmuriel had been outside the door or merely happened to be walking passed, but he was stopped now, long hair shiny in Tega’s lamplight. 

Dritch dropped his gaze, but Tega could see Kimmuriel’s burning into him, face entirely impassive. Finally, after what seemed an impossibly long moment he said “Be on your way then.”

His voice sent shuddered down Tega’s spine. His words were both cold and exact, the natural melody of his voice deadened with the precision of his tone.

Dritch fled. With no one between them Kimmuriel looked up briefly at Tega, still betraying no emotions. Then, seemingly of it’s own volition, her door slammed. 

XXXXX

It took the drow two weeks to march them out of the forest, a terrible two weeks. 

Meika had barely eaten for the entire duration. He would not stop fighting them, kicking if they got too close, biting when they tried to force food down his throat. 

On the fifth day, still deep in the forest, Dor’rolik, the commander, had shaken his head at the soldier who was attempting to make Meika eat. Relieved, the soldier had backed off. Dor’rolik crouching in front of Meika, smile playing on his dark lips. 

He had spoken in elvish, loud enough for all the captives to hear, “I will give you one opportunity to behave.” His voice was melodic, too beautiful for his words, “If you defy me again, your people will hate you for it.” 

He took the food and attempted to force Meika to eat again. Tega wanted to scream at him just to eat, not to fight for once in his life. The commander’s words had sent terrors through her bones. 

But Meika did not eat. He twisted, kicking out at the commander, baring his teeth and snarling. Dor’rolik leapt back out of Meika’s reach, he smiled too gently down at him. “As you wish,” he said. He half looked over his shoulder to one of his soldiers and said, “Aldris?”

A skinny drow, peppered in scars, with blades hanging from all available places turned his attention to his commander.

Dor’rolik continued, still speaking in elvish, slow and clear so that all of the captives could hear him, “You did well in the raid, I’d like to reward you.” He gave Meika a sharp toothed smile, never once looking away from him “Pick whichever one you want, try not to damage them irrevocably.” 

The skinny drow, Aldris, smiled broadly, stalking toward the elves, hungry eyes devouring. He reached out toward a pretty female.

“No,” Dor’rolik said, eyes still on Meika, “One of the young ones.” 

“No!” Meika yelled, Aldris shrugged and turned his attention to the line of elf children who huddled together under his gaze. 

The elves began shouting, pulling at their bonds, snarling to get free and protect their young. But they could only watch as Aldris cut loose a crying little female, her hair a wild dark tangle. 

She writhed in his grasp but was no match. 

“STOP!” Meika shouted, pleading, “Please! No more! Please! I will eat.” 

The commander crouched in front of him, “Yes, you will. But I would hate for this lesson not to sink in. Now keep your eyes open, look away and I’ll give him another.” 

Never before had Tega felt the sort of hatred as she did now for the commander. Her gut churned with it, her blood poisoned, her bones burned. She felt it in every nerve and every thought. She let it cut into her and bury itself. 

XXXXX

Jarlaxle watched Tega come into the office the next morning. She wore a pale pink cardigan and a flowered dress. She looked unperturbed, if a little stiff. 

“Good morning,” She said softly, settling herself in her desk chair and taking out her work. 

“Good morning,” he responded. 

He watched her clench her teeth when she took up her pen. But she didn’t say anything, just set her shoulders and kept on with her work. 

“Does your hand hurt?” he asked.

She let a long time pass as though she hadn’t heard him, then finally responded, “Yes.” 

“Here,” he said in a compassionate tone. He lifted a small phial of healing potion and lifted his hand as though he was going to toss it to her.

“Don’t!” She said hurriedly. 

He sighed with exasperation, “For Lolth’s sake, Tega, just take the potion. I don’t want your work to slow down just because-”

“No,” She assured him, “I just...I just wouldn’t have been able to catch it.” 

He swept up from his desk, crossed the room and set the bottle on her desk, “Dritch is on an assignment, I thought you would like to know.”

“Did you send him because...” She said softly. 

“I sent him on assignment because he is a mercenary and Kimmuriel said that he needed someone of his skillset.” 

She wasn’t sure what to make of that. But there was nothing that she could do about it. 

“Thank you for the potion,” She said instead and drank it, closing her eyes as her hand stopped throbbing. 

She did not want to make an enemy of Kimmuriel if she could help it and could only hope that his reasoning for sending Dritch had not been personal. But she could not be too upset. After all, Jarlaxle was right, Dritch was a mercenary and could only be expected to act like one every once in awhile.

She moved her way through the daily reports, distracting herself from her personal concerns. They were of great interest to her today. The reports this morning confirmed what she had suspected from when both of Jarlaxle’s lieutenants had met with him for so long the day before. A new house war was starting, a big one. This excited her a little. She had an idea that she was anxious to try out. 

She carefully organized the reports into two piles, day to day and everything to do with the new war. All of the new war reports she went through carefully, keeping a log of the drow involved, in an enormous grid that spanned many pages. 

Each name was marked with a file number and a copy of each of the reports they sent it was to be kept in their own place. Along with the reports she drew up grids for each soldier, keeping track of what they spent and gained, how many soldiers they were in charge of and time spent on each assignment. This was a gamble. It would take many hours over the course of the entire war which, she was given to understand, could take anywhere from a week to years. And she wouldn’t know until the end if there was anything to be gained by it. But she needed a project and here this was. 

She was working so dedicatedly she jumped when Jarlaxle called her name at the end of the day. 

“Tega!” He called, rapping on her desk with his knuckles to get her attention. She startled and looked up. He was standing in front of her tiredly. She hadn’t noticed, but he had been in and out of the office all day at different meetings, briefing groups of soldiers, and confirming with his lieutenants. He wanted to rest. 

“Yes?” She asked. Her pulse was racing a little from how complicated her organization method had become. But once she had it it was going to be beautiful. 

“You are distracted today,” he said, “Is this about Kar’Dritch?” 

“No,” She said rather guiltily, she had temporarily forgotten he had been sent off until then she had been so immersed, “No, I am...preparing for the big war you’re starting.” 

He took the book from her hands and glanced through it, then he laughed, “Perfect! This looks perfect! But you know we have four other wars happening also.” 

She perked up, “Do you? I’ll do those too.”

“I’ll get the records for you from Kimmuriel,” he responded, “Lolth knows he’ll be glad to be rid of them. But not tonight. Come now, I’ll walk you to your rooms.” 

She rose from her desk, carefully putting away all of her papers. Looking at her desk she said, “I’m sorry for losing my temper with you yesterday, Jarlaxle.” 

“I suppose you aren’t the only one at fault,” he said only a little begrudgingly. 

She turned and faced him, “I know you were trying to help me, but I am not entirely naive.”

“How does your hand feel?” He asked, taking it and turning it over in his own. His hands were very warm, or perhaps hers were just chilly. 

Jarlaxle felt down the length of Tega’s recently broken hand bones, “I have never seen someone do that for someone else before,” He said quietly. 

She allowed him to inspect her hand and didn’t reply. By now she thought it must be more of something to do with his fingers than looking for remaining damages. 

“Is he the only one worthy of such a sacrifice?” He asked in a low tone. 

She looked at him through her spectacles. He wasn’t looking her in the face, just touching her mended hand. 

She had not had time to answer when his fingers stilled. Then, tentatively, circled her wrist. They were faint, they had had a long time to heal. But if you traced your finger around them, as Jarlaxle was doing now, they could still be felt. Faint scars that circled her entire wrists. These were scars that Jarlaxle was familiar with, from struggling against being bound or being pulled around by tethered wrists.

XXXXX

It was only two weeks. Fourteen days with the drow. But it was enough. The girl hadn’t spoken since she was used to control Meika. Sat still to be fed, allowed herself to be dragged along, barely lifting her feet. Whenever Tega saw her new rage bubbled in her blood. 

Tega spent hours staring at the commander, murmuring his name in her mind while they were marched. She remembered the gentle misleading smile and the soft voice. She learned the angle of his jaw and the set of his eyes. She knew the length of his stride and the size of his footprint. She knew the depth of his reach and which hand he favored. 

For fourteen days she watched him. And then they reached the western edge of the forest, where lushness began to give way to arid desert. 

The drow stopped while they were still in the shade of the trees, waiting. In the distance, she could see a shadow approaching, the silhouette of a caravan. 

The elves had been kept too poorly nourished, too badly beaten to resist. 

The caravan came to the shadow of the trees. Twenty or so robed humans mounted on colossal beasts with thick muzzles, heavy feet, and round humps. A heavy human male approached them, two brawny males on either side of him, wide swords in their hands. 

The commander argued with him for a few minutes, bartering back and forth. They were speaking in neither elvish nor drow, but a lilting language Tega wasn’t familiar with. Finally the leading human let loose a loud and fruity laugh, his hands over his belly. The commander grinned. 

The fat human walked into the camp. He paid no heed to the drow soldiers but made his way up and down the rows of elves, examining them with a shrewd eye. He stopped before some of them, peeling their lips back to look at their teeth. Still frightened of the drow punishments, they obeyed, even Meika. 

Finally the human shook hands mightily with the commander and a great deal of gold changed hands. Without fanfare, the drow disappeared from camp into the trees. 

More humans came into the camp after the drow had vacated, listening to barked orders from their leader.

Brawny humans smacked at the elves with the flats of their swords, herding them into the hot sun. Although less blood chilling, the humans were much rougher. They sliced the bonds from the elves one by one, tying them instead onto trailing ropes that led from the back of the beasts of burden. 

They wrenched Tega forward and tossed her into the sand. She began getting up, dragged to her feet by the slavers. There was only one managing her, unlike the three attending to Meika. He lashed rope around her wrists and tethered her to the animal. 

They were strung up in long chains until every elf was well tied up. Then they started moving, wrenched forward by their wrists into the blistering heat.

XXXXX

Tega let him touch the scars, her heart speeding beneath her cardigan. 

He spent a long time with unfocused eyes, touching the scars on her wrists, then he said in a faraway voice, “Come with me.” 

She didn’t ask where they were going but followed him out of the office and down the hall. He led her through a myriad twists, occasionally looking back to make sure she was still following him, before they reached a door that he stopped in front of. He took out a silver key and opened the door, holding it open for her. 

She went inside and found herself in a small sitting room bedecked in opulent carpeting and outfitted with plush chairs and sofas. Through a gauze curtained doorway she could see a magnificent bed draped in silks and piled high with pillows, through another there were clothes of every shade hung with care. A colossal mirror reflecting them from the opposite wall. She thought that this must be Jarlaxle’s private chambers. 

“Jarlaxle?” She asked, “What are we doing here?” 

He seemed to have come out of the daze he had been in and shrugged, nonchalantly, tossing his cape over a chair arm and his hat on top of it. 

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” 

She didn’t sit down, relatively uncomfortable, having no idea what they were doing there. 

He reemerged from the bedroom, a small tin in his hand. Without the hat and cape he looked underdressed. She had the sudden inclination to take off his eyepatch, but resisted. 

“May I?” he asked, taking her hand again. 

She didn’t know what he was doing, but she nodded. She was certain he wouldn’t have wasted two healing potions on her if he were just going to hurt her again. 

He dipped his fingers into the tin, scooping a thick salve. She stood very still as he spread the salve around her wrists. 

It felt warm on her skin and getting warmer. She thought she knew what the salve must do but forced her hopes to stay down, letting Jarlaxle work. 

“Tell me when it cools,” he said.

She waited until the warm salve cooled on her skin then said, “Ok it’s...it’s cool.” 

He set down the tin and drew out a cloth, wiping her wrists clean. Under the salve her wrists were smooth, unscared. 

Her breath was labored. She took back her hand almost roughly and felt them. The scars were not there. She tried to breath only from her nose, becoming lightheaded. 

She had nothing to say. The tumult of the last day had eroded her calm and this tossed her over the edge. She threw herself into Jarlaxle’s arms, holding herself tightly to him. This time, unwatched by guards, she didn’t immediately recoil. He seemed surprised only for a moment then put his arms around her and laid his head against her hair.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The caravans dragged the captured elves forward through the sands. Their skin scorched in the sun, blistering red and peeling. Their lips were dry and cracked, tongues swollen with thirst. What this leg of their captivity lacked in terrifying overseers it made up for in cruel and unfamiliar territory. 

The captors themselves seemed harder to hate. After the horrors of the drow they seemed almost kind by comparison. But the elves had been beaten down by the torments of the drow. Not even Meika dared to fight back, but allowed himself to be dragged after his creature, arms stretched out before him. 

If there were a cure to Tega’s fury that had burned bright inside her bones since the attack on the little girl, it was Meika’s defeat. His head perpetually hung, shoulders slumped. She watched him placidly eat the food given to him and listlessly drink the water provided. He neither snarled nor attacked. She expected his dark tattoos to peel right off of him with his blistering skin. She had never seen his eyes look so blank and so dead. Her brother broke her fever of hatred and she felt the stirrings of compassion once more. 

Three nights in they were far enough from their forest that the slavers allowed them some mobility, trusting that they wouldn’t be stupid enough to run off into the desert. When she was untied, legs still hobbled, Tega scooted her way, head down, next to her brother. Although she sat pressed up against him, he did not look up at her.

“Meika,” she whispered, nudging him.

Slowly he turned his head to look at her. She was sure she looked hardly any better than he did, her skin too was blistered, her lips bleeding. But his eyes betrayed nothing when he looked at her.

She had nothing to say to him, no words of comfort that wouldn’t be lies, but she laid her head against his shoulder. It took many minutes but finally he lifted an arm and dropped it around her, and began pulling the tangles gently from her hair with his long fingers. 

“I’m sorry, Te,” he whispered to her.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, “Be strong.” 

“How?” he hissed, “Even if we got free we would die in this wasteland.” 

“One day we might not be in a wasteland.”

“And how many of us will be dead or defiled by then?” He replied in a soft snarl.

She touched the dark tattoos that limned his wrist. Opposite to the blue marks of marriage were black leaves, showing where he waited for the golden bracelet of leadership. “For as long as one of us breaths the air, until the last of us is lost, while any of us live, so do we all.” She said it holding tight to his wrist, her fingernails digging into his skin. It was a mantra for funerals. It was to be whispered in unison while the body was covered in underbrush to be taken back by the forest. 

He laid his hand over hers. She could hear him breathe, crescendoing from long and soft to harsh and sharp, she could see his shoulders give violent, rhythmic jerks. He was crying. 

She let him have a few moments before she twisted his chin toward her, “Don’t cry, Meika. You are already dehydrated enough.” 

His tears jerked to a stop and he stared at her from under his hair. His eyes were still shimmering and he looked lost and frightened, “Tega, it was my fault that that child was-”

“No!” She hissed, nearly crushing his hand, “It was the Dor’rolik.” 

“Who?” 

She looked up at him, “The commander, that was his name.” 

“Who cares?” 

She bristled, “He knows where our family was taken. Your wife, our brothers. He knows where they are.” 

“And?” He asked bitterly, “What will you do with his name, Te?”

She wrinkled her nose, talking about the commander was making her vitriol spark back into life. She let it burn her from her feet into her eyes, “I will wait!”

XXXXX

Tega slipped into the office the next morning, more quiet even than she usually was. She wasn’t entirely sure how Jarlaxle would treat her after the closeness of the previous evening. She had twisted her fingers the entire way to the office only forcing herself to stop when she was on the threshold. 

But when she looked up from the doorway, she shivered and had to fight not to run back the way that she had come. Jarlaxle didn’t greet her with his customary sweeping grin. Jarlaxle wasn’t there at all. Looming before his desk, eyes cold and impassive, was Kimmuriel. 

She sidestepped toward her desk awkwardly, trying to balance the competing desires to not look at him and not to look away. She understood that she needed to put up some kind of mental defense and that stumbling over her own feet was no way to show that it she was competent but there was nothing for it. 

Thankfully she did not have more than a few moments to suffer. At that moment, Jarlaxle paraded into the room, successfully stealing Kimmuriel’s attention.

“Kimmuriel!” Jarlaxle beamed, “You’re here already.” He swung around Kimmuriel to take a seat behind his desk, touching the psion lightly across the back as he did. Tega thought that he was probably the only person who could have done that and lived to tell about it. 

She hid behind her paperwork, rustling out the math she had used last time to ward him off and starting in on it hastily. 

In the middle of his conversation with Jarlaxle, not pausing in his sentence, a chilly voice broke into Tega’s mind. “That did not work last time and it will not work now.” 

She flinched badly enough to slam her knees into the desk. She rather longed to be the sort of person who could have handled that cooly. She tried to get her thoughts to catch up with her nerves. If he hadn’t been waylaid by her defenses, which seemed paltry in retrospect, had he had free reign over her thoughts?

“Yes.”

If she had been any stronger the grip on her pen would have snapped it in half. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t come up with a quick little plan to deal with someone who could literally read her mind. Her quick little plan had failed. Her hands were sort of dancing over the desk, unable to find something to do. 

“I know the dreams you are harboring.”

She could feel him rifling through her memories, like tender touches against her brain. It wasn’t as terrible as she would have foreseen, someone digging through her most intimate memories. For a moment she almost relaxed into it, thinking that it felt far more comforting than invasive. But as soon as she had puts those words to it she scrambled to fight back, recognizing the insidious trick for what it was.

“You’re going to have to focus better than that.”

He became less subtle, forcing things long pushed away into the forefront of her mind. Her father swinging her in his arms, the drow commander’s sweet smile, the twins pulled into the trees. At the twins, the spectacle diverted from the accounts of memory. Simultaneously she lived through the hundreds of different scenarios she had concocted about what had happened to her brothers when she lost sight of them. 

She clung to what she could. Bearing down on a single memory that she was used to cleaving onto. She dug her nails into her leg and thought of only the commander. She thought of all of the things she had clung to since she had been imprisoned. The shift of his eyes from red to sea foam as the dawn rose and his infravision faded. Just how the firelight had refracted in them. Where his skin wrinkled when he smiled. His arms that hung a fraction too long for his torso. The slight overlap of his teeth in the front. His hair, too short to be properly tied back, that fell prettily in front of his eyes. 

She felt Kimmuriel’s explorations stop and he withdrew from her mind.

“Better.”

XXXXX

The desert left the elves bereft of spirit. They were not used to such arid temperatures and were kept watered only enough to survive. 

When they finally saw the city looming in the distance Tega felt, of all things, a crushing of her heart. It might mean a reprieve from these conditions, but it might not. And she was certain that they would not be kept together for long. Who could possibly make use of that many elves? Their approach to the sprawling squalid metropolis was possibly the last moment before her people would be scattered. 

As they were pulled into civilization she looked only at Meika, memorizing what she could see of him. The red glimmer that still stayed in his dark hair even as full of dirt and filth as it was. The tattoos that cut across his sunburnt shoulders. But Meika was very far away from her. They had been tied up differently that day, not pulled by the camels, but in three straight lines: males, females, children. 

As she had not since his death, she longed terribly for her father, she felt that no force would have pulled them apart if he had survived. But he had not, and they were taken into the city. 

It was cacophonous. Neither the forest nor the desert had been quiet, filled with wind and leaves and animals. But this was a new sort of sound that pervaded the senses. It was claustrophobic with noise and overpowering with smells. Many of the elves were cowering and coughing, bunching closer together than they were bound. 

Tega was overwhelmed. She could barely breath. Could not make any sense of the swirl of activity around her. She wanted to cower under Meika’s arm and cover her ears. Tega desperately wanted to shut her eyes but she resisted, desperately trying to remember the path they were taking through the city. 

But it was too winding and there was too much to look at. She didn’t know how her eyes could see all of it at once and she couldn’t make their progress fit itself into any sort of recreatable map. They were pulled through the streets, whistled and snickered at. The journey seemed, incongruously, to take hours and seconds, until they reached an imposing stone building that towered above them. 

Tega pushed herself against the elf next to her, whose arm went around her protectively. She had never seen such a large structure. The wooden double doors were large enough that, lain flat, they could have been their own platform in their forest home. They were bordered by broad and well armored guards who looked to Tega like the same person twice over. 

Inside the building was worse, it was hot and cloying, the walls claustrophobic. There was so much mud and stone above her Tega thought she would not be able to breathe. They were taken all the way down a long hall, driven by barked orders from the slavers behind them. At the end of the hall was a twin staircase, one that circled up, the other that went down into shadows. 

They were not taken together. The rows of females and children were herded upward while the males taken down. 

It was then, with Meika being taken from her and pulled into the dark that the calm Tega had been pulling over herself broke. She had watched death overcome her father, calmly allowed her twin baby brothers to be whispered away, but this last blow was too much. The brother she had always imagined she would miss the least was disappearing into blackness and she could not stand by it.

Before she understood what she was doing, a scream tore out of her throat. It echoed through the near silent hall, cutting into the ears of the guard and the elves. She wrenched herself sideways, thrashing. Her wrists, slimmer than those of her fellows pulled out of their cuffs and she leapt wildly. 

She was inelegant in her attempt, more of a lurch than a leap she careened off of the stairs and into the air, down toward the males below her. 

She reached out for him, her aim not true enough to land her next to him. Her fall was softened by hands that reached out to catch her. The guards were shouting but against their command she was passed into her brother’s arms. 

“Meika!” She shrieked, clinging to him, “Don’t leave! Meika not you!” Her words were nearly unintelligible with their pitch but he clung onto her more fiercely even than she to him. 

For a single and final moment she was wrapped up in him and his arms were still strong and his skin still smelled faintly of home. “Tega,” he whispered at her, “Tega, you’ve been so brave. Tega, I don’t want to go.” 

The guards had caught up, bullied their way passed the elves and reached her and Meika. They pulled her back but she clung to his arms, looking desperately into his face, “Meika, I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” 

“Tega, it will not be forever!” He urged back, clinging to her arms in return and resisting the pull of the guards, “Tega promise me! Promise me it will not be forever. We will see each other again! Promise me!” By the last pronouncement his voice, cracked from thirst, was no longer a whisper but ringing through the halls. 

She nodded, tears blurring her cheeks, “I promise, Meika. It will not be forever.” 

Then she was wrenched from his arms and tossed back to the press of bodies forced, unwilling, up the stairs. The hands she moved passed touched her gently on hair and shoulder. 

The fight had been taken out of her and she followed the lead of the guards without argument. They were taken up the stairs passed two different levels. At the top level the slavers were met by imposing female versions of the guards at the door. The elves were handed off to these new captors and ordered through a narrow hall and into a room lit by the sun. It was not the sort of room that Tega had expected to be taken. It was dappled in sun that streamed through windows covered in hanging silks. The floors were covered in soft pillows. Tile surrounded a cavernous bath in the corner and ledges held pitchers that sweated from the cold water they contained. The stink of the city was not so bad here.

The guards filed them all through, unhooking them from their bonds one by one and locked the doors behind them, giving them time to neither fight nor question. 

They fell on the water, drinking it down to ease their cracked lips and swollen tongues, many of them throwing themselves on the pillows. But their abandon only lasted for a few minutes. After just the first tastes of refreshment they gathered themselves up. The elf women looked around at each other. Their skin was raw and dirty. Blood covered much of them, still unwashed from the battle many weeks ago. They didn’t speak. There was nothing to be said, but set to it. 

They took turns, using the water provided in the basin to wash the sand and dirt off of each other, with soft cloths. They did the children first and laid them out on pillows, clean and damp, brushing out their hair gently. 

When the children were done the adults cleaned each other, picking tangles and matts from their long hair. They didn’t talk. The only thing that they might have said was that this treatment would not last. They didn’t say that this was the eye of a great storm or that this had not been given to them for their benefit. They only washed each other’s hair. 

When the sun began to go down the door opened and admitted the stoney faced female guards. They said nothing but deposited baskets of gauze and salves and trays of food. 

There was no discussion of not using these amenities either. Tega supposed that they could have. They could have spent a long time debating whether perhaps it was a better idea to refuse to clean themselves up. That perhaps there was more to be gained from starving. She supposed they could have asked themselves if it might be kinder to wring the necks of the children now, while they could. But they didn’t ask any of that. Tega didn’t know if it was weakness or strength. Did they take what was offered because they had been so thoroughly broken? Did they see that this was not the place to die and that they had no power to fight so they might as well suffer as little as they could? She didn’t know, but no one talked.

They waited, pressed against the wall, holding the little bodies of children against them until the guards had left. As the baths before, they were orderly about distribution. With tender fingers they spread salve on the damages marring the children, wrapping them with bandage and doting on them with kisses. 

Once the adults had been fixed up they divided the food. There was no need to ration, so much had been given to them and they filled their bellies with sweet fruits, honeyed bread, and tangy yoghurt.

Tega had not felt so whole in weeks. The dirt and blood that had caked her was washed away and her hair felt lighter without the sand that had piled up in it. Her feet were wrapped in bandages and her stomach was full of water and good food. 

When night came they crawled onto the pillows, lacing themselves into a tangle of sweet smelling children and long limbed females such that one could not be woken without waking them all. 

XXXXX

Tega’s nerves were frayed by the time Kimmuriel stood from Jarlaxle’s desk and turned toward the door. He crossed the room in smooth strides, head facing the door but eyes fixed on Tega as he passed. Trying to be brave she glowered back. He arched an eyebrow.

‘Do you think you have the capacity to intimidate me?’ 

She jolted again with the renewed intrusion into her mind and then shrunk. This was not the sort of assault she had any experience with. 

When Kimmuriel had disappeared through the door Jarlaxle’s gaze fell on her, stiff in her seat. “Is my psion bothering you?” 

Acutely aware of the drow guards she shouldered her discomfort and forced herself to look poised and relaxed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She didn’t think that he believed her but he didn’t press any farther. She went back to her work. 

That night she triple checked the locks on her door before she pulled herself out of her clothes and put on pajamas, climbing into bed. She had slept alone for a very long time, but her bed felt large and cold. Kimmuriel had hollowed her out. She wanted very much a warm chest to hide her face in and arms to wrap around her shoulders.

She longed so much for warmth that it made her chest burn and hear head ache that Dritch hadn’t been sent away. She would have forced away her doubts and called him from the barracks. She would have laid down against him and asked him to gather her up in his dark arms. She wanted to smell the spice that he put on his skin and the scent of earth that clung to all the dark elves. In her imagining, she could relax in his arms, his face buried in her hair. She would be able to feel his breath on her scalp and hear the beating of his heart under her ear. 

As she slipped into sleep the arms she yearned for did not remain as she had envisioned. In her dream they transformed. The blackness faded from the skin and freckles burst across them. The muscle tone weakened. Even as she slept she shuddered and his musky smell filled her nostrils, like old paper and dried ink. The smell clouded over her and made her head hurt like it always had.

She woke up shivering and pulled the smell of the underdark into her nostrils. The blankets were tangled around her in the dark. She pushed her fingers through her short hair and let her forehead rest against the heels of her hands. She had not dreamed of him in a long time. She ground her hands into her eyes until she saw stars. That was not what she needed. Not now. She needed a level head. Needed to keep her cool. 

She pulled herself out of her bed and poured herself a cup of water. It didn’t matter. A dream was a dream and it didn’t matter. Dreams didn’t have secret meetings. She could have dreamed about turning into a kitten or taking Kimmuriel himself as a lover and it wouldn’t have made a difference. But she knew she wouldn’t sleep again that night. 

She got herself dressed and cleaned up, her hair was getting so long. She tucked it behind her ear and faced the door. She might as well get some work done. She lingered in her room. It was still the middle of the night and she was timid to walk all the way to the office without an escort. 

Even alone she flushed pink at the cheeks. She hadn’t stopped to think about this properly and she knew it. She walked to the office on her own every morning. Why should she be any more frightened now? It was somewhat that Jarlaxle was always there to meet her or shortly on his way in the morning. If something happened to her he would know almost right away. This early, or returning to her bed at night, hours could go by with him none the wiser. 

But also she recalled her first notion upon seeing Jarlaxle and Dritch, that that sort of thing wasn’t done in the morning. Had someone else said it she would have scoffed at them. She was sure that the drow were equally willing to slit throats in morning as in the evening, the morning just felt so much safer. 

She tsked to herself and marched out of her door and down the hall into Jarlaxle’s office. She met no one along the way. 

She stepped into the office and softly shut the door behind her. 

“Good morning.”

She jumped and turned, Jarlaxle was at his desk, playing with a heavy gold coin in his fingers. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “You’re up early. I didn’t expect you to be here.” 

He shrugged and, uncharacteristically, didn’t say anything. He was underdressed, in only a soft shirt and loose pants. Many of his rings and earrings remained in place, but his hat was draped nonchalantly across his desk. They eyepatch was still there, though on his right eye this time. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said finally and tipped back a heavy metal goblet, exposing his throat as he drank the last of its contents.

She moved minutely closer to his desk, fiddling with her skirt as she did, “I um- I wanted to...to thank you, Jarlaxle.” 

He grinned at her, without his regular ensemble his grin looked more boyish than it ever had, “For what?” 

“The...for healing my wrists.” She looked away, tugging at her sweater, “I - just - I - Thank you.” 

He tipped his head back and appraised her, the gave a partial shrug, “Perhaps I didn’t do it for you.” 

“Who else would you have done it for?” She asked.

“The scars made you look weak, capturable.” 

She blinked and looked down, “I am capturable,” she said a bit more harshly than she meant to, “I’ve been captured.” 

He let his head drop back so she could only see his pointed chin and he heaved a belabored sigh, “Tega, can we not? I am very tired.”

She withdrew a half of a step, “Can we not what?” 

He sat up, leaning his weight on his forearms against his desk and glowered at her, “You just, why don’t you ever do what you should!” 

She was too tired to fight with Jarlaxle, he wasn’t exactly someone that it was easy to go up against. She was too tired even for his accusation to upset her, she just rocked back on her heels, “Ok, sorry.” 

He waved his hand at her dismissively, looking up at the ceiling for a long while. She stood awkwardly watching him, about ready to turn and go to her desk when he dropped his gaze back to her. “Why did you let me take you to my quarter, Tega?” He asked pointedly, “I could have been up to all sorts of nonsense.” 

This made her laugh, “First of all, what could I have done about it if you were?” 

He startled, “Did you think-”

This time it was she who cut him off, “No, you wouldn’t do that.” 

“Tega, I am not some tender doe.” 

She rolled her eyes, “That isn’t what I’m saying. You just-” she looked him over slowly, reaching for the words in drow, “You’re smarter than they are.” 

This cheered him up considerably and he somewhat came back to himself. He preened and patted his desk, “Come here and keep telling me that about being smarter.” 

Had it not been so early, had she not been so tired, she might have resisted. But as it was she followed his request, scooting herself onto his desk and facing him. He nodded at her to continue, grinning. 

She allowed herself to be won over, “I wasn’t just being upset when I said that most drow are stupid, Jarlaxle. Revenge and overzealous cruelty is stupid and short sighted, the sort of thing people do when they’re afraid...and makes me...sad for them.” 

He leaned back, putting his feet up on his desk so he could watch her while she was talking. The tiredness that still sat over her made her want to scoot closer to them, to see if his legs would be warm to lean on. But she did not. 

In a much different voice he said, “Drow make you sad?” 

She shrugged, “Drow are smart, but they all run around slitting throats and posturing and whipping each other and it makes them all seem scared all the time. But you don’t.” 

“I am not,” he said, a grin crawling over his face, “scared all the time.” 

“I know,” she said slowly, hoping she could make her difference clear and having to switch back into elvish to do it, “I know that you aren’t soft. I know you kill if you have to and I know that it doesn’t bother you. But I can’t imagine you torturing someone you didn’t have to.” 

His voice was light and he chose his words with care, following her into elvish, “Are there times when one has to torture?” 

“Yes,” she said, with surety that made him smirk and wiggle his eyebrows at her.

He put his arms behind his head, resting on his hands and smiling at her lazily, “So all the other drow and tripping over themselves in a frightened rage but I’m here above it all?” He asked her this in a jovial, self aggrandizing tone.

She touched the edge of his purple hat that lay beside her on the desk. His eyes hawkishly watched her fingers but he didn’t stop her. 

“Isn’t that why you cut off all of your hair?” 

His grin widened into a toothy smile, “Well that was the idea.” 

She returned his smile with a softer one of her own. “I ought to get to work,” she said, sliding off of his desk, “Has Kimmuriel left those reports for me yet?” 

“Oh,” he said, redonning his hat, “Yes, they are on your desk.”

She turned to her desk and saw a large stack of papers waiting for her to organize. Regardless of them being from Kimmuriel, she smiled, happy to have something that would keep her busy. 

“You ought to be careful of Kimmuriel,” he said pointedly, “He’s dangerous. Much more dangerous than Kar’Dritch was.” 

She could have laughed, “Yes, I had worked that much out.” 

She began sifting through the piles of papers, lying them in neat stacks. 

Jarlaxle was still regarding her, “These house wars you are getting yourself involved in, they can go on for quite a long time. Years, decades.”

“Are you asking me if I plan on sticking around?” she asked, not looking up at him.

“Yes.” 

“I had intended to.” 

“Well I wasn’t sure when the thrill of the underdark would wear off,” he cackled.

She glanced over at him between her organization, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” 

He face her with a much more serious face than she had expected, “Well why else would you have come? For the challenge? The thrill? Following the exceptional good looks of your new captain?” 

“Oh it was the last one,” she said casually, “I took one look at you and had to follow wherever you led for the merest chance of catching sight of you again.” 

He laughed, “Then how charitable of me to have put your desk facing my own, it’s a wonder you finish any work.” 

“Perhaps I just grew tired of looking at you.” 

“That,” he said, going toward the door, “is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank you guys for all of the reviews, I do absolutely adore them and it makes me so happy that you are enjoying my story.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Tega knew quite well that people could get used to almost anything. They got used to pain that never healed. They got used to scraping through starvation. They got used to ceaseless war that killed everyone they had ever known. And she had gotten used to living alongside the drow. 

The key, for her, was to keep busy and to record everything. The house wars progressed in the slow manner of the drow intrigue. Some of the houses had risen and fallen. Some had changed only in the sizes of their armies. In her room she had charts hanging across the walls with sprawling notes on each of these failures and successes. 

She had decided on this project when she discovered that the drow did not keep histories. They just let people die and houses fall and wrote nothing down. 

“What’s the point of remembering the dead?” Jarlaxle had asked dismissively. 

She hadn’t laughed, but she had wanted to. It seemed obvious to her why they were all so taken with chaos. If you shoved your face right up against something it never makes any sense. If you want to understand you have to get a little further back. 

So she kept histories for herself. 

Seven months ago House Phrith’lielen, once seventeenth house of Menzoberranzan had fallen to House Khazadan. The survivors of Phrith’leielen were stripped of their names. The rest of Menzoberranzan pushing them out of existence. House Khazadan was the seventeenth house of Menzoberranzan, they had always been. Phrith’leielen ceased to exist. 

Except for an entry that hung on Tega’s wall, small questions and notes pinned all over it. It had had an army of 2,000 underlings, kobalts and the like. 2,500 orcs. 600 drow. She had recorded the names of their captains and what rank they had had at Melee Magthere. She knew the names of their priestesses, there were two and another high priestess. 

On their own, the numbers meant nothing. But they were not on their own. She had the figures for the victorious house too, and the numbers for every house war she had seen. She tracked them, marking their numbers at each rank the houses climbed, marking where they fell. There was nothing she didn’t write down. 

This was the part of mathematics that made her heart swell. People had thought that the swirling of seashells was chaotic once too, not beautiful ratios. They had thought that the stars moved without tracks. Mathematics were the rules of chaos

But this was a side project. 

Tega pinned back her freshly clipped hair and set off for the office. 

Jarlaxle wasn’t there yet. He had been busy the day before, three meetings and a bunch of rushing around for a war that was culminating. She didn’t think he’d be down to his office until mid morning at the earliest. That was alright. She enjoyed starting her mornings alone. She sat on her little chair and ticked through her morning duties. 

Exactly on time, when Narbondel passed it’s ninth mark, nine o’clock on the surface, Kimmuriel entered the office as he did every morning since she had taken over record keeping. He was still the lieutenant, messengers still sent their reports to him and he still needed to know what they said. But it was her job to keep track of them after that. 

She wasn’t fond of this particular side effect of Jarlaxle taking a late morning. She still did not like to be alone with Kimmuriel. He never made any direct assault, but she didn’t like that someone could read her every thought. 

“It is more complicated than that and you know it.”

She furrowed her brow and thought clearly, “You could speak out loud, you know, there is no one else here.” 

She didn’t get a response, just a gentle prodding through her most recent memories that she still couldn’t force him out of. She nearly just let him do it. People could get used to anything. 

“You dream of the sun.” 

She looked up at him. He had deposited the reports and turned to leave, but now he lingered at the door. Usually she didn’t feel the need to look at him. Just did her best to think of innocuous things and ignore him. But she could barely repress shuddering at him looking through her dreams. It seemed so very intimate. 

“What of it?” She thought back. The dream she had had filtered back through her brain. It had been a simple one, not quite memory and not quite imagination. She had been lying on her back in the heat of the sun. She had had her eyes closed and the bright light looked pink through her eyelids. She had dreamed of feeling the warmth soak into her skin and heat up her clothes. 

Kimmuriel lingered for another moment then disappeared through the door. 

Tega pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose and began going through the reports, neatly writing out summaries for Jarlaxle and marking down important figures. 

She was three fourths of the way through, moving steadily and efficiently, when she flipped to the next report and her hand stilled. The next report on her stack made the breath catch in her throat. She dropped her pen and took up the paper with both hands.

It was written in pretty looping letters. The writing that had long ago, had it been that long, a year, corrected her drow grammar. Kar’Dritch. She hadn’t heard from him since he had been sent off. She hadn’t known even if he was still alive. She found that she was shivering. Following each line of the report with her finger. 

She had not anticipated having this sort of reaction to seeing his handwriting. She had been separated from him for longer than she had known him. But the underdark had starved her for affection. 

The report was not long and it was not specific. 

Lieutenant,

My placement has been successful and appears to be at least semi-permanent. Information will come as I receive it. 

That was all there was. A scrap of paper. She could only imagine what his placement was or why it was semi-permanent. She had no idea where he had been posted, what his job was. Spying maybe, some kind of espionage. 

Jarlaxle had come in while she had been reading and rereading his brief report. He had said something but she didn’t catch it.

“I said, good morning,” he said with a little pang of irritation. 

She didn’t look up, “What’s that? Oh yes, sure.”

He stalked over to her desk and gracefully pulled the report out from under her fingers.

“Hey!” She squeaked. 

He flourished it and read it over, “Oh, good for Kar’Dritch.”

She tried very hard to sound casual, not quite meeting Jarlaxle’s eyes, “Where did you send him? What does it mean by placement? I mean, is he safe? Or I mean is his um- mission secured or?”

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes then peered around theatrically, knowing very well that they were alone. Then he bent forward leaning on her desk and whispering, “House Baenre.” 

He stepped back and laughed, “I wish that I could tell them that I sent him. I deserve some thanks for it in my estimation.”

She was blushing and snarked, uncomfortably, “Oh yes, I’m sure they’d send you a muffin basket for it.” 

He doubled over laughing, she wasn’t sure she could see why it was quite so funny. “Oh, well I deserve it!” he cackled, “I know what I’ve sent their way!” He was clutching his ribs in his laughing.

“Do you think that he’ll be alright?” She asked it quietly. She wasn’t even sure Jarlaxle would hear over his laughing. But he quieted and looked at her.

He paused, like he was actually considering her questions, “Yes, I do. I think to have made it this far shows that he’s quite good at what he does. He’s a smart boy, knows how to keep his head down.” 

“Will you tell me if something happens to him?” 

“You’re the one who gets the reports first, perhaps you should tell me!”

She bit her lip, “Well then if you find out something, can you just tell me?” 

He sighed, “Yes, I suppose I could.” 

XXXXX

The elves were kept well fed and well tended in their sun drenched prison for one month. In that time their skin healed from its exposure, their lips lost their scabs, they gained back weight until their ribs no longer showed. 

It was the hardest for the children. By the time they were healed out of being miserable, the small room was much too confining. They had spent every day of their lives in the trees and this tiny room with no entertainments was nearly too much. They were too young to be subdued by the scent of dread that lingered in the sweet water and ripened food that was brought for them daily. 

They endured for one month. The elves were still sleeping when it happened. The doors opened and guards came in, swift and brutal. The elves were awake in a moment.

The guard on the left, Tega still did not know her name, wrenched one of the smaller boys out of the tangle of legs and hair. He fought, but he was out matched against her burly muscles and stiff armor. 

With a swift, nearly businesslike manner, she drew a short knife and held it to his throat. Screams of protest arose among the elves, but she looked for the world as if she didn’t notice. Tega was not watching the guard. Tega was watching the other human who had come in with her. A new human, one she had not seen before. 

She would have recognized him had she ever seen him before. She had never seen any person quite like him. He was like a warrior in double. She had thought, having seen her people so tightly muscled that she knew the appearance of strength, but she did not. He stood at least two heads taller than the already tall guard and his muscles where thick and heavy. His arms perhaps wider than her waist. 

They stood unmoving and unspeaking until the elves settled down. It didn’t take much, just enough pressure against the boy’s throat to let them know that the guard would do it and then probably grab another child. The elves weren’t willing to attack, not with the boy’s life so easily forfeit. Tega, close to them, could hear the boy sniffling, trying to rein in sobs, his throat pressed too tightly against the guard’s knife to comfortably shake. 

The man turned his head to look behind him and nodded, giving a brief command in the language that they spoke. When he spoke he was able to make even his own lyrical language sound rough and coarse. Tega could not make out a word of the language. The Drow she had almost been able to figure out, some words at least. It had functioned very much like her native language and they had heard the drow say many things. But this new language was lilting and foreign. She didn’t know even how to pull the words apart from each other, never mind guess at their meaning. 

But no matter what he was saying, girls came in from behind him.The girls were meek, skinny armed, nearly as skinny as Tega. They were not fighters, didn’t’ move like fighters. Their eyes were demure and downcast and their little arms were filled with silk clothing in vibrant shades and pots of creams and paints. 

The girls drew up to an elf, a fully grown female and began trying to strip her of her ratty and dirt stained clothing. She stepped back, striking at the girl. The girl shrieked and leapt away. The elf, Miliara, hadn’t hit hard, not hard enough even to bruise, just enough to let her know to stay away. The boy screamed. 

In the guard’s grip, he could not struggle much, but she had cut a long red slit up his bicep, blood trickling down his skin. The elves shifted nervously. They all remembered what it was like to see a child damaged in front of them. 

Even now, the little girl hurt by the drow had not spoken. They would not let it happen again, regardless of their injustices. Tega’s fingers shook, she wanted to do something other than play along. Wouldn’t it be worth the death of this boy to try to fight, to try to get away. She had felt before that they should just work with their captors until a better opportunity arose. But it seemed now as if every day they were there they were being pulled further and further down and the longer they took the harder it would be. Wasn’t it worth the life of one boy?

She shuddered at herself, his name was Emeric, his mother was Delina, she had been a hunting companion of her father. This wasn’t some boy. 

Unwillingly but with no means of revolt, the elves let themselves be stripped and coated in sweet smelling oils. They let themselves be draped in pretty colors of silk. They let their hair be brushed and streaked with oil until it shined and wound into intricate braids and knots. 

When Tega had had her clothes pulled off of her the big man shouted something harshly. The girls attending to Tega stopped and stepped away. Her people were not unaccustomed to nakedness, but under his heavy gaze she felt more than exposed. 

He leaned down and touched his heavy hand down her arms. She fought not to shut her eyes and shake. He turned her around, eyes raking over her. He laughed. It reminded her of the drow. She wanted to throw herself into the arms of the females around her and hide behind them. But her body would not listen. 

The big man called over a girl and rifled through her array of silks. He selected one and gave it to the girls who had been working on Tega. It was the sheerest cream. Practically transparent. Tega was wrapped in it. Even covered it revealed every inch of her skin. Her hair they did not pin up, they laced it with ribbon and left it long, flowing over her back. She was led first out of the room.

Tega imagined herself the brawny fighter that Meika had been. She envisioned kicking the guard, smashing her face into the ground and breaking her hands. She imagined ripping the silk from the skirt they had put one her and suffocating the big man with it. She would lead her people home. 

But she was not as strong as Meika and she could do nothing but allow herself to be led, once more chained in a line. 

Her murderous thoughts were interrupted at the bottom of the stairs, where the male elves waited as fresh and clean as they were. The males had not been painted but they had suffered the rest. They were wrapped in pretty clothes, more delicate than anything any of them had ever worn, and their hair had been elegantly done. 

Tega sought out Meika’s eyes immediately. She nearly did not recognized him. She had never seen him wear more than loose wrappings on his bottom half. Now he was pinned in fragile red silk. It brought out the reddish streaks in his dark hair. His hair too, was different. She had never seen so silken. He had kept it in the style of the males of her people. Loosely brushed and woven with thin braids and beads. It had always been knotted with tangles until it all looked darker than it was. All of this had been removed and his hair shown clean and soft. To Tega he looked like a tiger dressed as a kitten. 

He saw her also and strained forward in his shackles. He called out a single word as he pulled, “Sister!” 

She leaned toward him, her heart bursting with his call. For the part of a moment the captors allowed it she was his sister only. She wasn’t a sweet perfumed thing that had been packaged and chained. She was the girl he had taught to braid. He was the brother who had told her not to be afraid of tigers in the night, because he would not let them get her. 

They didn’t have long to inspect each other. The guards that had brought the females and children down were augmented by a half a dozen new male guards that surrounded them holding spears or swords in their hefty hands. 

The elves had no choice but to follow when they were led through the hallway again. Less addled by thirst and pain, Tega could take in more this time through. The ceiling was tiled far above them with metal plating, indented in pretty designs, the walls also were painted with bright swirls of pattern. They headed toward a grand door right in the center. She had not noticed it before, she had been so focused on the stairs, so overwhelmed by the city outside. But this time it was all she could look at, except when the shifting of the elves allowed her a glimpse of the back of Meika’s head.

The males were led through first, so she heard the sounds from beyond the door before she saw their source. Loud sounds, the dull roar of a hundred voices stuffed inside. It was a noise she had not heard before. Out of doors and among the trees voiced did not echo like that, did not fill so much space. She resisted on her chains, pulling away from the terrible clamor, but she could not stop being dragged forward into its midst. 

The room was large, more a cavern than anything. Tega tried not to be overwhelmed again. People were thick between the walls and the mixing smells of them pushed into her nose. She bit down on her tongue, she didn't have to endure this for. She would find five things to notice then it would be over. 

A woman with black painted around her eyes, a man surreptitiously picking his nose, jewels clasped at the wrists of a girl, a man with hollow cheeks and black clothing, a dais in the center of the room. 

That is where they were taken to, the crowd parting to let them through, interested eyes inspecting them. They were pulled up onto the raised dais. It had round brackets attached to it. They were chained down. The hunger in the looks they were being given made Tega want to be sick. They were not merely on display for very long. 

They thought to begin with the children, one by one. A guard unhooked a timid girl, Reiliel, a sweet thing that had sometimes woven flower crowns for her brother and her sister. She was maneuvered to the front of the elves and secured down again, slightly elevated from the rest of us, easy to see. 

The quality of the room’s noise changed. It was not any quieter, just more directed. Every face turned up at the girl or the big man, who now stood at a pedestal shouting intermittently. And then it stopped all at once and people clapped politely. 

Tega watched a thin youngish man approach and give a sizeable amount of gold to the big man. Reiliel was unchanged and handed over. It was easy to see in the glinting eyes of the man who had bought her, what he intended. It was in the way he scooped her from the dais and in the way his hands travelled across her. 

Meika roared. It was the Meika that Tega knew, snarling and fighting. Regardless of what repercussions it might bring it made her heart sing. His eyes were fire upon human who held Reiliel. His arms stretched taut against his chains. He looked as though he would eat the man whole. 

Some people stepped back, but most did not. Most looked excited, whispering among themselves. Two guards came for Meika, unhooking his chains and holding him between them. Still he thrashed, nearly getting away. But he didn’t have long enough. Soon the chains were resecured and he was tied where they girl had been. The big man said something else and the guard came for Tega.

She didn’t bother fighting. Just allowed herself to be taken next to Meika and chained next to him. Side by side he looked more terrible and she more demure. 

She whispered to him, “Don’t fight, Meika. Can’t you see that they are enjoying the show?”

The fight dropped out of him and he looked down at her, “Are you alright, Te?” 

“Yes,” She whispered, “Are you?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Come here,” he said, “You can see through the silks they gave you.” 

“I know,” She whispered. 

He unhooked some of his red silk and wrapped an arm around her, shielding her from their hungry eyes. 

Tega was nearly grounded with how desperately glad she was that her father was dead. That the last image she would have of him was him fighting. She would not have to see him up there. He would not have to see his prize son sold off. He wouldn’t ever know the fate of his little girl. 

XXXXX

“Be careful, won’t you,” Tega said from her desk. 

If Jarlaxle heard he did not notice, he was adjusting the exact angle of his hat, switching his cape to hang over first his right shoulder and then his left. He wore his best today. That is to say, no shirt and only the high vest, the color shifting cape and the hat. They eyepatch, of course as well. But Tega had never seen him without the eyepatch. She might have even been fooled into thinking he needed it if it didn’t shift occasionally from one eye to the other. 

“What was that?” He said, striking a pose in front of the large mirror he had recently put in the corner of the office. 

“I said, be careful, tonight I mean.” 

He twisted to look at her and grinned, “Are you worried about how I will fare in the fight? I don’t know if I ought to be flattered or insulted.” 

She looked back down at her ledgers, “If it were up to me, insulted.” 

He clicked his tongue with disappointment and continued preening. “Which way does my hat look better, Tega? This way,” there was a pause, “Or like this?” 

“The first way,” Tega said, not looking. 

He muttered darkly, “Well now I am insulted.” 

She did look up at him then, he was pouting, his back turned resolutely to her, flipping the red plume on his hat to each side. 

She sighed, “Will you show me again?” 

He spun back around, grinning and showed her again, she pretended to ponder. There was so little difference between the two she wasn’t sure why he couldn’t make up his mind. But she did her best to seem like she was really thinking, “The second way is much nicer.” 

He rolled his eyes, “You have no eye for anything, Tega,” and turned his hat the first way. 

“Are you really going to a battle dressed like that?” She asked. Her eyes took in his uncovered arms and exposed belly, “You look so...squishy.” 

He scoffed at her, “Me? Squishy?”

“Just don’t get yourself killed.” 

He smiled broadly, “Because my death would tear your heart asunder?” 

She went back to her work, “Because if you died Kimmuriel would be in charge.” 

“You have been down here too long,” he deadpanned, “But I do try to do my best to keep myself alive.” 

“Will you stop at the office when you come back?” 

He looked over his shoulder at her, having turned back to the mirror, “Alright.” 

The battle that they were preparing for was the last piece in a house war they had been planning for years. The third house was going to take the second, and Jarlaxle was going to help them. Unless, of course, as he had reminded her, the second house thought it was worth the gold to persuade him to help them instead. 

Jarlaxle did not, as a rule, join the general melee of fighting. But this was a special circumstance, the two houses involved were both well stocked and bursting with gold. He would be there to wring every coin he could out of them before the fight was over. 

Tega watching him put the finishing touches on his ensemble and sweep out the door without a word of farewell. It was going to be a long night. She, obviously, was not going to take part in the fighting. She would be left here to work throughout the evening. She was sure he would be alright. When was he not alright?

But she was very aware that he was the only thing standing between her and an underdark full of drow. The stakes were quite high as far as she was concerned. She would not be able to sleep until she knew that he had returned mostly whole. 

So she settled in. The guards were not in the room, most of them having been sent out to the battle so she was left alone to work. And she did work, she wasn’t so distracted as to let an entire evening pass by with nothing to show for it. 

She worked late into the night, and there was much to be done. This war was going to be over and she would need to make a nice summary of everything and bind it all up together for the records. She was always proud of her little bound house war books. They had all the reports that had ever been written about them, diagrams and charts of their spendings and earnings. And neat little summaries in the first page. Sometimes these summaries were written by her and they would be dry and factual accounts of the summation of the house war. Sometimes Jarlaxle threw hers away and wrote his own and they sounded more like they had been torn out of a trashy adventure novel. 

She was just finishing with this one, as much as she could do at least until the final reports came in the following day, when the door opened. 

She turned, expecting Jarlaxle to come in, dancing triumphantly and grinning like a wolf. It was Jarlaxle, but he did not look triumphant. He stood stiffly and poked his head in, “Got back, everything’s tidied up, you can go to bed.” 

She got up from her seat and moved toward him, “Are you okay, Jarlaxle?” 

“What? Oh yes, what a silly question. Of course I’m okay.” He was already disappearing up the hall. If he had been at his full capabilities she wouldn’t have been able to keep up, but as it was she met him at the door to his chambers.

A scrape ran down the side of his face all the way from his chin to the tip of his ear, like he had been dragged across the ground. There were more scrapes, lining up with the first, down his right shoulder and arm, across his belly. She suspected there were more on his legs. A long and frighteningly deep cut slashed across his unprotected torso that was dripping blood onto the floor. And he favored a foot. 

“What?” he asked harshly, “What do you need?” 

“Can’t you- can’t you just heal yourself?” She asked meekly, her hands covering her mouth. 

He laughed, a bark of a laugh, “Spell to resist healing potions, it should wear off in a few hours but until then -” he shrugged, “So if you could just let me go and lie down, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

She almost left, he was never very pleasant when he was upset. But she remained. She could at least, she decided, offer to stay. No one wanted to sit alone and brood on one’s injuries, least of all someone like Jarlaxle. 

“I could-” she started, “I could at least keep you company...If you wanted...I mean...I don’t want to intrude…”

He stood stock still for awhile, thumbing his bracer and looking between her and the door, finally he swung it open, “Alright.” 

She followed him in and closed the door behind her, he slouched immediately into a chair, breathing hard. 

She waited for a second to see if he’d get up. When he did not she awkwardly came forward reaching out a hand tentatively, “Can I take-” she cut herself off and chose a different tactic, “You’re getting blood on your hat.” 

He snatched it off of his head and threw it. It flopped pathetically on the ground and he sulked angrily, “I’m getting blood on all of my nice clothes, Tega!” 

“Well just put on something else then!” she said, cloaking her waspish comment in a soft tone. 

He pouted, “I don’t know if I can. My ribs hurt.” 

She was reminded rather vividly of when Dritch had been hurt and how Jarlaxle wouldn’t help him. She had the tiniest inclination to let him suffer and see what it was like. But she couldn’t commit to it. He probably already knew what suffering was like. Instead she said, “Let me help you.” 

She picked up his hat and dusted it off, setting it on a couch, “Stand up and I’ll help you with your vest, if it gets stained that fabric will never come clean.” 

Begrudgingly he stood. She touched an edge of the small vest and paused, “May I?” 

He considered for a moment then gave a tiny nod. She pulled the vest off of him, being tender around his injury. She took it off the left arm first so it would be easier on the right. His shoulder was bruising and swelling, like it had been dislocated and jammed back into place. She laid the vest near the hat. 

She went back to him and took a good look at the cuts on his face, “Doesn’t your eyepatch hurt?” The string was going right across the worst of the scraping. 

His shoulder’s slumped, “Immensely.” 

“Do you...do you want to take it off?” 

He tilted his head up and looked at her despairing, then lifted his hands and peeled off the eyepatch. He lifted his hand to throw it but Tega caught his hand before he could. She took the eyepatch gently from his fingers and added it to the growing pile. 

His face looked softer without it and younger. He held her gaze for the first time with both eyes. They looked so wide. He looked at her with shimmering eyes for many seconds then, with a small shake of his shoulder, entirely lost it. 

He shouted without warning, clenching his eyes shut and ripping at his earrings. “It doesn’t matter! Any of it! It’s all stupid! Every last piece of it!” He was nearly screaming tearing at his decorations. His next shrieks may have been intelligible to a native drow speaker, but she could make neither heads nor tails of them. 

The only thing that saved him was his lack of direction. He had tried to rip away his earrings and cast off his bracelets and rings and pull off his boots all at once. Tega leapt forward and put a hand on his bicep. He stopped. 

“Ok, ok,” she said soothingly, “Ok, let’s take off your jewelry. It’s ok.” 

He fought her for only a second, then dropped his hands and let her remove his jewelry.One by one she unclipped each earring and the three necklaces he had spindling down his torso. She took the bracelets from his wrists and the rings from his fingers. One foot and then the next she pulled off his tall leather boots. 

“Do you want looser pants?” She asked softly. 

Looking lost, he nodded. 

She went to his massive closet and found loose soft pants. By the time she had returned he had moved to his bed chambers, sitting on the edge of his bed and trying to peal off his tight leather pants. He cringed, trying to bend that far over. 

She had too much pity to feel uncomfortable, just slid his pants off of his legs. Under them was more scraping and a nasty injury to his knee. It looked like it had been kicked. She helped him pull on the loose pants. 

He lay back, reclining on the many pillows. He looked blank without his many decorations. Nothing glittered against his skin. He looked more like a drow this way, just black skin encasing fierce muscles. 

“She caught me.” He said softly, his head turned away from Tega. He turned onto his side, his left side, so his damages were not touching the bed. His back was to Tega. 

She didn’t respond, didn’t say anything. But she lifted her hand tentatively. If he had had hair she might have stroked it, but she thought patting his bare head might be uncomfortable for them both. So instead the touched her fingertips to his back, dragging them lightly over the skin. He shivered but didn’t comment. 

“I tried to switch sides and she caught me in her throne room, I barely got out.” 

She kept touching his back, “You did get out.” 

“I was fool hardy and too sure of myself.” 

She didn’t comment on that. It was probably accurate, overconfidence was a flaw he succumbed to not infrequently. 

“I was set upon by her giant of a daughter, I thought she was going to kill me or worse.” 

“She didn’t kill you.” 

He was shivering under her fingers, “I could have lost everything.” 

“You didn’t.” 

He let out a big shuddering breath and said in a whisper she barely herad, “Will you stay?” 

“Okay.” 

She stayed the entire night, even when her eyes itched in tiredness and she had to fight yawns. It was the longest she had ever seen him not talk. He just lay not facing her, every once in awhile jumping and turning to look at her, then settling back down.   
Finally, when it must have been nearly morning, he twisted, “I can feel the spell wearing off, can you get a healing potion for me?” 

“Sure,” she said getting up and stifling a yawn, “Where are they?” 

“Little drawer on the blue dresser, on the right side.” 

She followed his instructions and found an array of identical little vials, she plucked one out and gave one to him. Gratefully he drank it down and shut his eyes in relief. 

She watched the cuts disappear and heard some clicking around by his knee. Now undamaged he turned over, laying flat on his back. His eyes stared upward despondently. 

She wanted to sleep, she wanted him to stop looking so upset. She sighed and tilted her head back against the cushioned headboard, doing mental calculations. 

“Did you finish the war?” She asked softly.

“Yes, of course we did,” He murmured.

“So your agreements still stand?”

He frowned, “Well they’d better.” 

She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she put them in her lap. There was no innocent part of Jarlaxle to touch when only his stomach was exposed to her. It wasn’t like she could fondle his abs. 

“Then you still acquired a third of their armory and half of their treasure stores. I’m sure your soldiers have already brought it back. You can spend all day tomorrow walking around in it touching everything. I’m sure you’ll find new earrings for yourself and something else more garish than anything you’ve ever owned before.”

This sort of talk perked him up, “Do you think it’s all in our treasure stores already?” 

“Yes,” She said, “I can’t imagine anything else, I’m sure Kimmuriel is still there, overseeing the inventory and frightening everyone.” 

He sat up suddenly and smirked at her. She got up off the bed. 

Without all the distracting glittering jewelry and sexually charged clothing and when he wasn’t sulking, he was quite far from unattractive. She rubbed her eyes uncomfortably. 

He didn’t look exhausted all of a sudden, he was like an entirely different person, life flooding back into him.

“Do you feel better?” she asked shyly. 

“Yes!” He exclaimed, “You were right, I was ridiculous to be upset about nearly failing. Because I succeeded. I escaped and Kimmuriel finished out the battle. I should have been celebrating.” 

She smiled, “Well celebrate now.” 

He wriggled his eyebrows at her, “Is there something you had in mind?” 

Finally succumbing, she let out a momentous yawn, her shoulders shivering up, “I thought that I would sleep.” 

“Oh, well I’m sure you’re exhausted, you should sleep.” His short burst of energy seemed to already be burning itself out, his eyes drooped, “You could stay here, if you wanted, I’m sure it’s more comfortable.” 

She laughed, trying not to squirm, “No um, no it’s quite alright, Jarlaxle, my own bed is just fine.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, “I’m not sure you felt these sheets, Tega,” he said very seriously. 

“I’ll see you later, Jarlaxle,” she said tiredly, “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?” 

She waved him down dismissively, “You won’t walk out of this room without wearing your weight in jewelry, so no, I’ll be okay. I’ve got that necklace you gave me.” 

“Goodnight, Tega.” 

“Goodnight, Jarlaxle.”

She left him, reclining on the bed, grinning and stripped of all his accoutrements. She slipped down the hall, going quickly toward her room, hoping she wouldn’t run into any drow. Now especially, with their blood up after a fight. 

She knew had no reason to complain, she hadn’t been in combat all evening, she hadn’t been dragged across a stone floor and had her knee kicked in. But she was very tired, her stomach was starting to cramp like it always did when she went without sleep and her eyes itched. 

She passed the office and she thought the would just duck in quickly and put away the things she had been working on. She had rushed after Jarlaxle so quickly she had not had time. She went into the office, hoping to only spend a few minutes there, and stopped dead in her tracks. 

Kimmuriel stood by her desk, robe nearly wrinkled, shadows under his eyes. 

“Oh,” she gasped aloud, “I didn’t think-” There was a half a moment where she tried to hope that he had been injured, or at least inconvenienced in the battle. But she was very tired and it made her even softer than usual.

They had a momentary standoff, her between him and the door, and him between her and the desk. 

She tried to glower but almost immediately she broke, “Are you alright, Kimmuriel? From the battle?” 

The corners mouth turned down, “I am fine. Not that it is any concern of yours.” 

“Ok,” she said through a yawn, “Well, that’s good, regardless.” 

He said nothing but brushed passed her, his robes swirling around him. 

She tidied up her desk, tucking away all of the reports for later and returned to her room. She locked the door behind her and changed into her pajamas. She laid down and fell asleep nearly immediately. Again, she dreamed of the sun.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“Celebrate with me,” Jarlaxle said, sweeping majestically into the office. He was not wearing his regular outfit, but its replacement was no less lavish. A billowing red cape that swirled around him when he turned. Underneath he wore sleek black leather pants and a spider silk shirt so sheer the outlines of his muscles could be seen beneath it. Only the eyepatch and plumed purple hat had remained. 

Tega, just putting the finishing touches on the house war book, closed it carefully and looked up, “Celebrate?” She wasn’t sure she would enjoy what Jarlaxle considered celebration. 

“Oh, I know, you’re soft and timid and would startle at the merest hint of anything exciting,” he said waving a hand dismissively at her, “I was thinking something more suited to your proclivities.” 

“What did you have in mind?” Tega asked warily. 

He sauntered around to her side of her desk and leaned back against it, smirking down at her, “I thought dinner.” 

Pink crept up her cheeks, “I don’t want to go galavanting around Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle.” 

He tapped her nose with his finger, “How very sensible of you, I meant on the surface.” 

She let out a tiny gasp, “Oh, oh yes, yes that would be lovely. What are we celebrating exactly?”

He scowled at her, “Your captain being the cleverest and most beautiful drow in all of the Underdark.” 

She tilted her head quizzically, “Who are you handing the position over to?” 

He swatted her, “Of all the unamusing things that you have ever said that is without contest the least amusing.” 

“Will you still take me to the surface?” 

“Only because Kimmuriel would make sour dinner company.” 

She laughed and he beamed, “Now, my tireless assistant,” he said dramatically, “You just let me choose something for you to wear.” 

“No,” she said far too quickly. She could not have begun to find the words to describe how desperately she did not want to wear an outfit selected by Jarlaxle.

He didn’t say anything but pouted and swirled his cape back to his own desk.

Sheepishly she looked up, “When would we be-”

“Tonight, Tega,” he interrupted, “Is there any further way you would like to wound me?” 

In a voice so soft it could barely be heard she said, “I like this cape better than your other one.” 

“I will feed you to a drider.” 

XXXXX

Tega had never been so secluded in her life. She had gone a few yards from the elf camp and it had seemed like she was on her own at the time, but she had been so close to home. A frightened call away from half of the camp coming to her aid. In the slave house she had been pressed close by people, too many for the space. But she and Meika were alone, locked in a room with no company but each other.

They had been brought together from the auction, her still tucked under Meika’s silks, peering out with wide and frightened eyes. They had been purchased by an expensively painted human female.

She had tilted their faces, holding them painfully by the chin to look at their teeth. It embarrassed Tega how meek she had been, letting the woman pull back her lips and inspect her. Meika had bitten her. 

But regardless, they had both ended up in the same elegant prison. They had been brought into a smaller but much more beautiful building than the colossus where they had spent their first month. It was a comfort to have Meika with her, but it was impossible not to wonder at the fate of the rest of them. Had any of them remained together or were her people well and truly scattered? 

Alone with just her brother, she still did not want to raise her voice, “Meika,” she whispered. She was pressed right up to him, his arm wrapped around her. “Meika, I don’t think we should fight them.” Her voice shook when she said it. She knew already how he would react. But it was important that he understood.

“Why not? What do we have to lose?”

She scowled at him, looking up losing some of her timidity, “What do we have to lose? Meika, think for half a second. We have much to lose.” 

“They dressed you in transparent silks, Te, do you have any idea what they plan to do to you?” 

“Yes!” She hissed, “Yes, Meika, I had figured it out. What we need to do is stay whole and undamaged enough to take an opportunity when it comes. What we need to do is learn the language and be easy to handle.” 

“Why would I ever be easy to handle!” He nearly roared.

She took hold of his wrist, “The easier we are the lower their guard will be.” 

The wind slipped out of his sails, “Perhaps you’re right, Te. Besides, they know that you are my sister, surely if I misbehave the repercussions would fall upon you.”

She softened at his protectiveness and she reached up to rumple his reddish hair, making him look slightly more like himself than he did with it brushed straight and sleek. She stopped talking and tucked her head back under her arm. 

“Do you really think that you are right? Or are you frightened?” Meika asked after a long silence.

She didn’t know how to answer. How could she know if she was right? He had been imprisoned as long as she was. Who was she to tell him not to fight. He was strong and able. He could probably escape. 

“We would only need to get through probably a few guards,” he said into her ear, “I only counted six on our way in. I could do it, if you were close enough behind me we could both get out.” 

She allowed herself to be lulled by his logic for a moment. She let the seductive image of him brutalizing his way to freedom with her scurrying behind play behind her eyes. They she pushed it down. “What about after that, Meika?” she asked, “Do you know how to lead us out of the desert? Do you know the way back? Do you know where the rest of our people are?” 

“One step at a time, Te!” He hissed, “How do you ever expect to escape if you want everything to fall into place!” 

She wanted to retort, she wanted to tell him that it was stupid to charge off into nowhere. But she couldn’t. She didn’t know if it was stupid. Perhaps death trying to escape would be preferable to allowing themselves to be slaves. 

She was not allowed the time to make up her mind. They were interrupted by the door to their room clicking unlocked and swinging open. Silhouetted in the doorframe was a young human male. He stepped inside casually. He looked something like the woman who had purchased them in the lips and in the nose. But he was not so elegant. 

He was still young enough to look a little gangling, though by no means a child. Sandy hair sticking up and skinny arms speckled with freckles. 

He took a few steps in, a guard following him. He looked slowly over Meika, then just as slowly over the little of Tega that could be seen. He lifted a finger and pointed it at Tega then beckoned her to come. 

“No!” Meika hissed, clinging to her.

She pushed his hands off, “It’s okay, Meika, I’ll be okay.” 

She stood up and went with the human.

XXXXX

Tega nearly flew to her room that evening, thrilled to bursting to see the surface again. She hadn’t realized how terribly she had missed it until the opportunity to go back was put in front of her. 

She nearly slid around the corner to her rooms and stumbled awkwardly back, only avoiding slamming into Kimmuriel’s chest by his swift step backwards. She lost her footing jumping back and nearly slipped. His hand shot out and caught her roughly by the wrist. She was startled more by his assistance than she had been by his sudden appearance. He looked coolly down at her, face as unreadable as ever. His hand was cool and bony.

She righted her feet and had begun to pull her hand away but was distracted by him intruding roughly into her memories. She could feel them being flipped through, flashes of them appearing and disappearing. 

“Stop that, for once,” she thought at him.

He let a long image of her, still young, slipping down a rope in the forest, unable to climb up, progress slowly through her mind, “Make me, Tega.” 

She restrained herself from shivering, barely, “You know very well that I can’t.” 

It was the smells he brought forward in her mind that made her shudder, sweetened incense overlaid on the burning foul smell of the city. “Stop it!” 

Anger replaced her fear in waves. She tried to focus. She was sure she couldn’t overpower him so changed her course, shutting away things she didn’t want him to see. She tried to dredge up her own memories, innocent memories. Trying to learn how to knit, a kitten that she had briefly owned. The old man from the village. 

“You know how to stop me, Tega, this isn’t it.” He pushed passed her offered memories in favor of his own selections. Sand colored hair and the thin body of a scholar. His skin was always dry. 

She fought viciously against the dredged up sensations. She did know what worked. She didn’t want it. But she wanted less the smell of ink soaked into skin and his weedy laugh. She couldn’t hear him say her name again or feel the kisses he put along her ears and his fingers laced through hers. So against her will she conjured a replacement instead. The drow commander. She spent her thoughts on remembering the details of his face and how his voice had sounded when he had ordered the murder of those babies. She remembered how he laughed and her heart burned. 

Kimmuriel leaned forward toward her, his grip tight on her wrist, mouth set in a sneer. “Why is it that you remember him so vividly?” He thought to her, abandoning or being forced out of her memories, “What is it that you want of him?” 

“I want nothing out of him!” She protested, pulling at her wrist unsuccessfully. 

He twisted his grip on her wrist until it was painful, tugging at her. She stepped forward almost into him, baring her teeth up at him. 

She fought to keep herself calm. But there were thoughts that had lived within her for so long, thoughts that she tried to bury and cover. She tried to wish to forget the commander. But they had filtered back when she had taken up with the drow, the details she had carved out burning bright. Her dreams of the commander chained at her feet, of blood dripping down his face. Having never done it, she could nearly have described how it would feel to make small cuts and to pull back his skin with her fingers. To push under his nails until they came off. She almost felt in her fingers how hard she would have to rip to pull his ears from his head. Of making him shriek until he regretted looting the village of elves and killing their chief. Until he lamented giving the little girl to his soldier. She wanted to make him bleed. 

The images slunk out of their corners and coalesced, almost overcoming her in intensity. She wrenched her wrist out of Kimmuriel’s grip, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, an unsettling light in his eyes. He stepped back and allowed her to whirl away from him, fumbling only slightly with her key and slamming her door behind her. 

She fell against it as soon as it was closed, rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She took long and deep breaths, trying to reclaim the good mood that she had been in. Why did Kimmuriel insist on doing things like that? Was the point to drive her mad? 

She tried to lock up the thoughts of the bloody commander again, but it was harder. Her fingers curled and uncurled so badly did she want to hurt him. 

She forced herself to straighten up. She would not allow Kimmuriel Oblodra to ruin her visit to the surface. Her movements severe, she washed her hands roughly, getting the last of the ink off of her fingers. When she was cleaned up, she nearly aggressively changed out of her sweater and into a dress that didn’t have sleeves. She wanted the sun on her skin. 

By the time she was to meet Jarlaxle she had nearly regained her good mood, sweeping out of her room and back down the hall to the office. When she entered, she scowled darkly. She had only just had a reprieve from Kimmuriel, but there he was, being merrily chatted to by Jarlaxle. 

“Ah!” Jarlaxle said, leaping up, “You’re here! Excellent.” If he noticed her unhappiness he didn’t say anything, “Well then let’s be off. Kimmuriel, if you would be so kind.” 

A tiny furrow appeared between his eyes and a glowing blue portal opened in the center of the office. She stepped back warily, looking at Jarlaxle. He was standing calmly in front of it, offering her his arm. 

She took his arm and hesitantly let him lead her through the portal, clenching her eyes shut as she did. As she passed through Kimmuriel left her a final comment ringing in her mind, ‘Enjoy yourself.’ 

She flinched and rushed through. The change was immediate. She the wind moved passed her and light burned at her eyes. The air smelled sweet. She opened her eyes. 

The sun burned and the sky stretched a tremendous blue. She laughed out loud. Looking over at Jarlaxle and beaming.

“Shall we go then?” He asked, grinning at her. 

She let herself be led, focusing on the heat of the sun that poured into her skin instead of where they were going. Tears prickled at her eyes, they way the sun warmed the half of her that faced it while they other side remained cool. How had she never realized how much the sun lifted her. The thoughts of the commander slipped back into the forgotten recesses of her mind. 

Chattering and ignoring the unpleasant and frightened looks he was getting, Jarlaxle led her up a cobbled street to a pretty building. Mercifully, and she could have cried out at the sight of it, the restaurant had a wide fenced patio drenched in sunlight. 

They were taken to a table that sat right in the orange light of the sun. Jarlaxle took the seat with his back to it, leaving her to gladly sit with its light and warmth blaring into her eyes. 

When the waitress came to their table Jarlaxle fixed her with a broad and disarming smile, her reticence to approach them lessened by degrees. 

“Will you bring us wine? Your finest!” He said grandly.

She might have been a wonderful waitress for other clientele, but a drow, even an elaborately dressed and beaming one, seemed to have taken her aback. But she only stumbled slightly as Jarlaxle ordered whatever the chef was most proud of and only tripped a few times trying to hurry away. 

“Are you enjoying your sojourn to the sunshine, Tega?” He asked, reclining in his chair.

She looked at him, squinting through the light, “Yes, so much. Thank you, Jarlaxle.” 

“It is lovely, isn’t it,” he mused, “It always smells so sweet up here. Do you miss the sun when you are down below?” 

“Yes,” she admitted readily, “I like the way that it feels on my skin.” 

“Perhaps you would like to spend more time away from my office,” he said, raising his eyebrow over his eyepatch.

“What do you mean?” She asked warily. 

“I was considering, it would be a while off yet, I need to find connections, a venue, a market. I thought perhaps of…” he trailed off so he could dramatically lean forward and stare into her eyes, smirk on his lips, “expanding to the surface.” 

An confusing contradiction of emotions clutched her stomach, yes, she would like to spend more time on the surface. She would like to do the work she was doing with a little more access to the sun. But she did not much enjoy the idea of a drow army clawing its way to the surface. Jarlaxle was alright, she supposed. He was, at least, unlikely to pillage towns. He would be much more likely to get his fingers around enough leverage to get control of a local king and siphon off tax revenue. 

“Do you not think that I could do it?” he asked, tilting his head.

She rolled her eyes, “Of course you could do it, but I’m not sure how readily your soldiers would take to it. Or how profitable it would be for you.”

He shrugged, “It was a passing thought, long off as I have said. Ah!” he interrupted himself, “Our drinks!” 

Indeed, the waitress delivered their wine, red and sweet. 

“Oh,” Jarlaxle said, waving his hand as though just thinking of it, “We are going to be joined shortly, I hope that this isn’t a burden for you.” 

She might have laughed, “A hopeful contact for your surface expansion?” 

He sipped his wine and said, muffled into the cup, “What would possibly make you think that?” 

“So that’s why you made a trip to the surface!” she said, giving a short laugh, “And here I thought you were just celebrating with your hard working assistant.” 

He put his hand to his chest in mock indignation, “I can’t do both?” 

“I should have expected as much.” 

He shrugged, “You were probably distracted by how handsome I look in this lighting.” 

“I thought that you said it was far in the future,” she said.

“Oh, yes, it is,” he said, “But there is no harm in putting my toes in the water, is there?” 

She didn’t get a chance to respond. She was interrupted by a jovial voice from a large frame that had approached behind Jarlaxle. She couldn’t see his face with his back to the sun, but he announced himself loudly.

“Jarlaxle!” He boomed.

He came out of the sun and Jarlaxle rolled up from his seat to greet him. Tega too, rose, though with less enthusiasm. 

The man effusively clapped a hand on Jarlaxle’s shoulder, beaming broadly. He was an older man, sixty perhaps, or seventy, though well kept. He was broad in the belly, with a rough reddish beard clipped along his jaw. Tega frowned, something tickling at her. 

Jarlaxle fixed him with a beaming smile and gave him a flourishing bow, “Auguste Pernoit!” he exclaimed, “I hope that you found us without effort!” 

The name slipped under Tega’s skin and filled her with ice. He was much older than he had been. Broader and heavier. His jaw was not so sharp as it had been, his angles softened. His hair was not as blonde and he had grown a beard. But the freckles peppered his skin as they always had, his eyes remained a crystalline hazel. 

She could neither move nor speak. Her legs sat themselves back down as Jarlaxle did. She hadn’t notice him draw up a chair for Auguste, but he sat with them, beside her. The heat from his skin soaking across her. 

“And who is this?” he asked. His voice boomed more than it had. He was infused with confidence she did not remember. 

Jarlaxle grinned at him, “This, dear Auguste, is my lovely and ever diligent assistant. The brilliant and -” 

But he was cut off, Auguste had shaded his eyes to take a look at her and started, “Tega?” 

Anger slid through her blood like fire for a fraction of a moment when he said her name. 

She straightened her back and fixed her glasses slowly, “Auguste.” 

Jarlaxle, taken aback, looked between them with abject surprise.

She prepared herself, ready to fight or to run or to snarl. But he did the only thing she had not, would never have, expected. He beamed and laughed and pulled her against him in an embrace. She was so taken by surprise she didn’t resist, but let herself be pressed against him. He no longer smelled like ink, but under his perfume, his body smelled the same. 

“Tega!” He said again, smiling at her as he released her, “You look as you once did! But elves do not age so much I suppose! Surely I am not as you remember.” 

She didn’t know how to respond. She looked from him to Jarlaxle. 

“I -” she started, “Yes… yes you are…”

“Old!” he volunteered heartilly. “Not nearly so beautiful as you have remained.” 

He reached out and touched her cheek with affection, “You kept the glasses,” he said warmly. 

Though his hand was warm, chill crept from where he had touched her and she shrank back. “Yes,” she said, “Well I still need them.” 

Jarlaxle’s visible eye glimmered with an emotion Tega couldn’t pinpoint and he said in a tone with more sharpness than before, “Were the two of you -”

“Yes!” Auguste said, winking at her, “long ago when I was befitting of her charm.” 

The word Jarlaxle had not gotten to hung in Tega’s mind. Lovers? Had they been lovers? Indignity and outrage welled up inside of her. Is that what he had thought? Is that what he would call it? 

She looked to Jarlaxle, willing him to step in. To take Auguste’s attentions off of her, to whisk her away from him. 

She couldn’t speak, her throat was too tight. She wanted to disappear. She would take Kimmuriel a thousand times before this. A thousand thousand times. 

As though giving herself up to another person, that old calm took her again. This was Jarlaxle’s business contact. She must be a professional. She could not tear out his eyes or bite into his flesh. 

She forced herself to smile, “I’m sure it was not so long ago!” She said, trying to sound light, “It seems you’ve done well for yourself.” 

“And you too!” he laughed, “I never took you to work with mercenaries.” He gave her an odd look. A question hidden by his turned face from Jarlaxle. Concern. He looked at her with concern. Those eyes she knew. She knew what he was asking her. Are you alright? 

A new wave of outrage crested but she fought it, “The mathematics are as useful as you assured me they would be.” 

He laughed, “You act as though I had to convince you, you begged me to learn!” 

“I can imagine that she did,” Jarlaxle said, cutting in. He had been outside the conversation for too long it seemed. “I would not like to draw you away from your reunion, but we do have business to discuss.” 

“Of course, of course,” he said, taking a large drink of the wine that he been brought to him, “You and your mercenaries! We would not be working here, you understand, I make my home in the south, this is but a break from the blistering heat!” 

“Calimport, yes,” Jarlaxle said, “I do remember, though if it is as you have described before, I am glad we could meet here.” 

“As am I, my friend!”

The tension in Tega’s stomach did not reduce as they talked but curled tighter the longer she sat beside him. She could hardly keep her hands from shaking. They were exchanging words she knew that she should listen to. But she couldn’t turn the noise into anything intelligible. They spoke in common, his heavily accented and Jarlaxle’s crisp and clear. 

“I do believe that we could have a relationship of mutual benefit,” Jarlaxle said, “Your guild is a small but powerful one, as I remember. How it could flourish with the help of my soldiers. We would stay out of the way, of course. But can you imagine the force behind you with merely a fraction of my army. I could provide you with example, of course, and insurance.” 

Listening to Jarlaxle helped her focus. They would need new armour for the surface. The metal of the underdark didn’t take to the sun. The start up cost would be steep. She estimated the cost of each soldier and readied approximations. Auguste did not matter. She worked for Jarlaxle. He had brought her for a reason. She would do her work.

She began a list of differences and similarities between the guild fights she had witnessed and the house wars she had recorded. Began a tally of things the lieutenants and commanders would need to know. This was too much to keep in her head.

She glanced at Jarlaxle and gave a minute mime of writing. He smirked at her, not stopping his long winded sentence and took a roll of leather from somewhere in his jacket. 

She took it and unrolled it, taking up the pen that was curled up inside and beginning to document her estimations on the paper that had been around it. 

Auguste chuckled fondly at his, she forced her hands to write clearly. 

When she had her estimations ready, she handed it silently to Jarlaxle, turned so it couldn’t be seen by Auguste. Jarlaxle glanced at it briefly, gave her a small wink and kept on.

Auguste patted her hand, all nostalgia and affection, “I miss sorely you giving the products of your pretty little brain to me!”

Jarlaxle saved her from having to respond, “As you should! It would be a blow to the efficiency of my band if she were to slip out of my employ.” 

She strengthened under Jarlaxle’s approval and managed to keep her calm for another moment.  
Auguste gave her a smile and but said to Jarlaxle, “All of our talks, of course, are for quite far in the future. I merely thought that you would be someone to know.” 

“I certainly am!” Jarlaxle said, beaming and pushing his plate back. 

Tega jumped. She hadn’t noticed to fish being put in front of her. She hadn’t eaten anything, couldn’t imagine putting something into her mouth and swallowing. 

“I think that is as much business as I can stand in an evening,” Auguste said, leaning back and putting his hands on his belly, “But perhaps I can steal little Tega for awhile. I would like to catch up with her!” 

Jarlaxle stood up, ostensibly to leave, “I’m sure I could spare -” Tega’s hand shot out under the table. She could not reach his hand surreptitiously but clutched his pant leg and looked at him. 

He switched tacts with only a moment of hesitation, “her at any other time, but we do have an appointment.” 

She stood, putting her chair between her and Auguste. 

He deflated, “Another time then, perhaps, I do hope we will see more of each other. 

He had said it to Tega, but Jarlaxle interceded, “Of course we shall!” he said bowing again, “Now Tega, we must be getting on.” 

She gladly took his offered arm and hurried away from Auguste, only Jarlaxle’s hold on her keeping her from clamboring over the patio’s fence instead of going through the doors. 

She didn’t realized until they were a block away that her fingernails were biting into Jarlaxle's arm. 

“Tega?” He said, “Are you so shaken by him? It is something you should expect when taking humans as lovers.” 

She ripped her arm out of his, “He was not- we were not-” she didn’t know how to say it. She didn’t know how to explain. She didn’t know what words to use to tell him. She thought she would be sick. 

“Are you alright?” She had stopped walking and was bent with her arms crossed over her chest. She was breathing too fast. 

“No!” she whined, “No I am not, Jarlaxle. We were not lovers. We were not!” She took long breaths and leaned back, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m alright.” 

He was looking at her expectantly. 

She took a moment to collect herself, “We were not lovers,” she said again, “I belonged to him.” 

A scowl twisted his face, “You belonged to him?” 

She knew that his question was more clarifying than anything, but she lashed out, “Yes, Jarlaxle! I was dragged out of my home and sold across the desert! He purchased me and kept me!” 

His brow furrowed and he peered back toward the restaurant over her shoulder. He did not reach out to comfort her, but said in a still, calm voice, “There is still time. I could kill him for you.” 

There was a moment, the shadow cast from the brim of his hat over his face, the gleaming red eyes, the tension through his muscled arms, that he looked much more like a drow than she was used to. In an overshadowing way she knew he should frighten her, but instead affection curled in her belly. She could merely give him a word. Open her mouth and say, ‘Yes.’ And Auguste would be cold on the floor. 

She was overcome. She thought of Jarlaxle swinging back into the patio. Auguste would look up, perhaps he would stand, ‘Forget something, my friend!’ he would exclaim. He would not foresee it. Jarlaxle would spread his hands wide and he would smirk that one smirk that he had that was so full of danger. He would drop and hand on Auguste’s shoulder and lean in. A sword would grow into his hand and shine in the sun. She would see the color drain out of Auguste’s face. He would press the tip against his chest, he would glance over his shoulder and look at Tega with those eyes, ‘Is this what you had in mind, Tega?’ he would say. She would look at Auguste in the eyes, so that he would know that it was her doing this, so that he would know why this was coming. Then she would look at Jarlaxle’s shimmering red eyes and say, ‘Yes.’ And the sword would bite into his heart.

She had once dreamed about it. About a blade through his heart and the life leaving his eyes. There had been a time when she had spent eventing reclining in his arms and thinking of nothing but quelling the heart that beat against her ear. And it was possible, seconds away. He would do it for her. She was sure Jarlaxle would have even restrained him and let her do it if she asked. 

The quality of her thoughts shifted and she was seduced for a moment, she thought of August helpless in front of her, so deep in the underdark that he could not see what was in front of him. She thought of Jarlaxle’s warm hand wrapping hers around the cold handle of a knife. She imagined Jarlaxle’s hot breath in her ear, he would tell her where to strike. He would be warm, almost hot standing behind her. His shoulders behind hers, arm stretched out along hers to guide the blade. She could nearly feel him lead her hand over the girth of Auguste’s stomach, “Here, Tega,” he would whisper, “If you want it to last.” And she would. 

Instead, she laughed, “That’s sweet of you. But he is your business partner.” She wondered if her thoughts would have always been so hard to give up, or if Kimmuriel had awoken this. 

He shrugged, “I can always find another.” 

She tucked her hair behind her ears, “No, no,” she said, “No, I am alright. Really, I’ll be fine. I was just surprised. He’ll be a good business partner.” 

He laughed, “Are you telling me you wouldn’t like to see your former owner brought down by your handsome and charming captain?” 

She didn’t tell him how badly she would like that, nor about the fluttering butterflies that rampaged at the thought of Jarlaxle standing in the lowering sunlight with a sword dripping in Auguste’s blood, but replied, “I meant what I said, Jarlaxle, let him work with you.” 

“Why?” He said, dropping an arm over her shoulders and walking with her. 

She tried to keep the darkness out of her voice, but she wasn’t entirely sure that she succeeded, “Because you will eat him alive.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tega lay in her bed. She wasn’t asleep, just laid out on top of her blankets sullenly. Having returned to the Bregen D’aerthe, she was burdened with a mixture of disappointment and relief. She was far away, worlds away, from Auguste. She felt like she could breathe better away from his heavy human scent and cloying perfume. The tight and sick feeling in her stomach was moving off finally. But Auguste was not the only thing in the World Above. Feeling the sun against her skin again and then returning to the dark hung heavily upon her. The underdark was balmy, warmer than most parts of the surface. But it felt chill and confining. 

Having her trip to the surface interrupted by Auguste made her feel cheated. She had had an image of how the night would go and it had not included being reunited with a human who had once possessed her. Away from the confines of his office and the prying eyes of his guard, Jarlaxle might have been excellent dinner company without the interruption. 

She wanted to be angry with Jarlaxle for taking her to a business meeting without any forewarning. When this thought had fully articulated itself to her it made her laugh, having met Jarlaxle should have been enough forewarning for her that a trip to the surface would have a larger agenda than entertaining her. And how could she be angry with him when he had offered to kill Auguste? The sweetness she found in the offer still felt foreign to her. What sort of person took warmth in an offer of murder? Well, she supposed, the sort of person who worked as the assistant and accountant of a drow mercenary. 

She wanted to shout and drum her heels into her mattress. But she didn’t know how soundproof the room was. And she didn’t want to leave the imprint of throwing a tantrum in her mind for Kimmuriel to discover. So she lay on her bed as still as she could and tried to control her heartbeat. It was impossible, obviously, but it gave her someplace to put her concentration.

She knew that she should try to lock up her blood thirsty daydreams about Auguste and make them as hard to discover for Kimmuriel as possible. But she couldn’t help lingering over them. Auguste had the potential to make Jarlaxle a lot of money, and he had been willing to kill him, just for her. It may have been drow sweetness, but it was sweetness nonetheless. She wasn’t sure if it should be upsetting or charming how dashing she kept imagining him while he murdered Auguste. When imagining one’s employer splattered in the life blood of one of his business partner one’s focus ought not to be on how handsome it looks.

She scolded herself resoundingly. This was also something she shouldn’t be allowing herself to think about. He was her employer. It was unprofessional and inappropriate. What had she heard that sailor say while she was traveling over the Shining Sea? Don’t shit where you eat. That was it. It had been an admonition to a cabin boy after a comment on a fellow sailor’s good looks. That certainly held true now. He was not only her employer but a drow. And she had seen how he treated lovers.   
Besides, professional or not, she certainly did not want Kimmuriel watching her daydreams about Jarlaxle smirking over his shoulder at her as he very handsomely murdered people who had wronged her. 

She tried to clear out the thoughts of Jarlaxle and thought instead of the sun. Kimmuriel already knew she longed for it, it would do no harm to daydream about that. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that it was pouring down on her. She would wake up with burnt skin. Her thoughts permeated her dreams when, finally, she slept. She lay in the sun, warm and crisped. She heard nothing around her but the soft chirping of birds and leaves rustled by the wind. 

She woke up too early, she couldn’t see Narbondel from her little room but it felt early. It took her eyes a couple of seconds to get their bearings in the dark and for a moment she could see nothing. She felt well and truly back in darkness. When her stunted sight trickled back, she got up and pulled her clothes on, rubbing at her eyes. 

She missed the sun like it had been a friend. It hadn’t seemed to burden Kimmuriel to take them to the surface. She could visit so much more frequently if he were just a little bit less of a drow. But he was a drow, and she had agreed to come down here. She was not trapped and she ought to soldier up about it a bit. 

She left for the office, far too early for Jarlaxle. It would be nice to have hours alone. She could really immerse herself in her work. Stop thinking about the sun on her bare arms and light leaking through her eyelids. 

The office was as empty as she had expected when she got there and she settled herself behind her desk. She felt safe tucked back in her little corner. It always smelled so good in the office. A softened and lingering version of the perfume that Jarlaxle wore. She would have liked some tea, but was not up for walking to the kitchens on her own and, now that she thought on it, was not even sure she would be able to make her way there without a guide. The halls outside the direct path between her rooms and the office seemed to shift around. 

She took out her stack of projects and began work, making a tidy to do list. She would like to continue to work on the requisites for expanding to the surface, thinking Jarlaxle would like a report on that, but wasn’t sure where to start. She worked, instead, on her history project, cataloguing house wars and house histories.

She was sitting, minding her own business at her desk, thoroughly entranced with her work when the door to the office slammed open so hard that it crashed into wall behind it with a reverberating crash. She jumped terribly and looked up. Standing in the doorway was, perhaps, the last person she would expect. A wild eyed and imposing drow female. 

She knew, at once, who it must be. The Bregen D’aerthe had briefly taken her in. She had been taken in by House Baenre after the fall of her own house. But she had come here promising some sort of grand reward. It had struck Tega as strange that they had taken in a female. The Bregen D’aerthe she knew was an exclusively male band. As much as she often missed the company of females, she had rather liked that the Bregen D’aerthe was run by only males. She thought it akin to an exclusively female mercenary band were they on the surface. 

Of course she remembered the female’s name, Vierna, Vierna Do’Urden. But knowing her name and how she had gotten into the complex didn’t make her sudden appearance any less frightening. 

Tega tried not to shrink against her chair as Vierna turned her head. Scouring the office for life. When the priestess saw her, she snarled, disgust plain on her face.

“Where is Jarlaxle?” She commanded viciously.

Tega straightened herself in her chair and replied in a soft and even tone, “I’m sorry, the Captain remains retired in his chambers. I will have you sent for immediately when he is available.” 

The viper heads on her snake whip thrashed menacingly at her hip. This was the first time Tega had ever been alone with a drow female, ever had one’s attention on her. The first time she had ever seen their infamous whips for herself. Contrary to what she logically knew about their race she had been picturing them like surface elf females. Unconsciously she had always imagined them smaller than even the rather diminutive males. But they were not. 

Vierna stood at least a head and a half taller than Jarlaxle. Unlike the general litheness of male drow bodies, hers was possessed of a physical sturdiness. Wider shoulders, thicker arms. She didn’t look bulky and to a human would have still looked slim and pretty. Pretty was the wrong word, even a half blind human would see that Vierna Do’Urden was not pretty. She was more like an elegantly designed war machine. Heartstopping in both beauty and terror.

Having heard what she had about the females, Tega was rather expected to be lashed in the face with her whip, but for now at least, Vierna did not attack. Her scowl merely deepened and she said abrasively, “He sleeps late.” 

Tega remained stiffly in her chair, trying not to reach up and touch the pendant that would call Jarlaxle to her. Not unless she really needed it. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “Often he does.” 

This would have been an excellent time for Kimmuriel to come in with the reports. He was a terror and an annoyance but at least he didn’t have a whip made of living snakes. But of course, the one single time when his presence might have been less horrific than usual, he did not appear. 

Vierna was looking down her nose at Tega, “What is a faerie doing on her own in his office then? Are you his whore?” As far as insults in drow went, faerie was a particular vitriolic one. A racial slur of the highest degree. 

She wanted to ask her if the whores she was familiar with regularly wore sweaters and sat alone in their patron’s office doing paperwork but she did not. Primarily because she didn’t think sass was the best response to a priestess of Lolth. But belatedly she also admitted to herself that just because someone was a whore didn’t mean they didn’t sometimes get cold nor did it keep them from having a head for numbers. 

Instead, she said, only a bit crisply, and ignoring the slur entirely, “I am his assistant.”

Vierna walked closer, corners of her mouth twisting down, “A slave is a slave.” 

Tension laced through Tega’s shoulders and she bit out before she thought better of it, “I am not a slave. I am here of my own volition.” 

Vierna reached out and took Tega’s chin between her fingers, tilting it upward and staring her in the eyes. Her other hand softly caressed the handle of that whip. The viper heads snaked out and wriggled against the papers on the desk. 

She whispered into Tega’s face, “Whatever you are iblith,” she said, hissing the slur through her teeth, “Why don’t you run along and fetch your captain for me.” She shoved Tega’s chin back harshly when she was finished. 

“He will be around shortly. I can have you sent for when he comes in.” She could see at once that should not have said it. This close she could she the wildness of desperation that clung in Vierna’s eyes. But there was no taking it back. 

Vierna bared her teeth and, faster than Tega’s eyes could follow her whip lashed out, striking her thrice, with the snake headed whip. The snakes were alive and they did not merely snap but bit, fangs cutting through first her upper arm, then her shoulder, and the last across her face. Pain lanced through her and she yelped, bringing a hand up to her face. Blood coursed from the wound. 

She got up, self preservation more strong than dignity, “I’ll fetch him at once, priestess.” 

Vierna stepped back, smirking, “I thought as much.” 

Tega slid passed her as quickly as she could and fled out the door. Her sweater, one of her favorites, was ripped now in two places and blood pulsed from the wounds on her face and arm. 

She was quite glad now that she had learned where Jarlaxle’s quarters were. She would not have wanted to have to ask someone to lead her. Not that they should be unsympathetic to her plight. But if there was one thing the drow excelled at it was figuring out how to be unsympathetic against all odds. Luckily, his door was not too far from his office, she knocked on it the moment she was in front of it. She hardly waited long enough to be appropriate before knocking again, much louder. When she knocked a third time, the door swung open.

Jarlaxle stood in front of her, irritated scowl on his face. Earrings still shone up the lengths of both of his ears and a ring still lingered on one of his fingers, but other than that he was undressed, save for pants tied so loosely that they were nearly falling off of his narrow hips. 

He raised his eyebrow wearily, but then, eyes darting between her three wounds, his expression changed. 

“Vierna Do’Urden would like to meet with you immediately,” Tega said through tightly clenched teeth. 

He tilted his head to peer at the bleeding wound on her arm, “So it seems.”

Tega understood that drow, particularly drow males, were accustomed to pain and practiced in enduring it. She was not. She had, of course, suffered both pain and physical violence, but she had never gotten used to it. Her face and arm throbbed and tears prickled at her eyes, a result of combined pain and fear. She tried to keep them at bay. Three small wounds must seem paltry to Jarlaxle who must have felt the lash of a snake whip much more harshly. 

He stepped back and held out and arm, ushering her inside. Awkwardly she stepped in passed him. He shut the door and looked at her again, he reached out and touched near the wound on her face and flared his nostrils, “She didn’t get you so badly.” 

Tega glowered, “She ruined my sweater.” 

Jarlaxle appraised her sweater, “The sweater was very cute. My assessment was wrong, Vierna’s crime was terrible.” 

He walked barefoot into the room with his bed and came out with a healing potion phial, “Just a sip should be enough.”

Although she desperately wanted it she resisted, “I am fine, Jarlaxle, hardly more than a scratch.” 

He scoffed, “We can’t let her spend the day admiring her handiwork. Drink it.” 

Gratefully, Tega took the tiniest sip from the phial and handed it back. Heat flared at each of her wounds and she felt them mercifully close. Jarlaxle dropped the phial into his pants pocket and raised his hand, wiping the blood from her cheek with his thumb. 

“She could have broken my glasses!” Tega protested. 

“You could use new ones anyway, those must be ancient. Perhaps I’ll get some for you.” 

His hand was still on the side of her face and very warm. Before she had been shaken and her attention captured by her wounds. Now healed and securely away from Vierna, she blinked quickly, realizing how close to her Jarlaxle was standing. 

He regularly wore that revealing vest, but there really was something about him wearing no shirt at all. She had noticed it when she had walked in on he and Kar’Dritch. Her shoulders tensed when that came to mind and she clicked her teeth together. She thought he must sleep in hardly anything at all, his pants were so loose. She could see his hip bones peaking up over them and lean triangular muscles that disappeared under his waistband. 

Tega held very still, the color rising in her cheeks. She might have chastised herself. Of course he was attractive, wasn’t that why he wore the vest and the tight pants? To flaunt to the females how beautiful he was? She suddenly felt a wave of guilt. Jarlaxle was possessed of pleasing slope of his chest narrowing to his waist and the slimly carved muscles. His face as symmetrical and angular, with soft looking lips and mischievous eyes. How much of a gift could these assets have been living in the underdark where females took what they wanted? She forced herself to look at him in the eyes. 

He looked like he was waiting for her to say something. He had asked her something and all she could do was look at him dumbly. His lips turned up in a smirk, “Am I distracting you, Tega?” The breathy way he said her name gave up his game, but knowing that he was teasing her did not provide her any immunity. 

She hunched her shoulders together, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in hardly more than a whisper herself. 

His teeth revealed themselves in a predatory grin. Without his usual glitter he appeared carved from obsidian. He began to slowly stalk around her, clearly enjoying the way he was making her squirm. 

“A priestess is waiting for you in your office, perhaps you should put a shirt on and see to her.” 

“You think I should scurry around my own complex at the whims of uppity houseless priestesses?” 

She smiled faintly, “No, I suppose that you should not, although it would be too bad if other mercenaries of yours were caused harm by her impatience.” 

Having come back around in front of her he shrugged, “So a few mercenaries get a little scratched.”

She frowned, “You healed me? What is different between your mercenaries and I? 

He laughed, face splitting in a grin, “I told you that I’d bring you back home if you wanted to go, so I can’t let you get too terrorized. Where would my drow go if they were unhappy here?”

He sighed and rocked back on his heels. “I supposed I should go though,” he said with a small scowl. He disappeared again into his bedroom, “Wait if you wish, I’ll be only a few minutes.” 

Her thoughts were much less muddled now that she was healed and he wasn’t stalking around her whispering at her. “So what is the game here?” 

“Hm?” He asked, arching an eyebrow and leaning out from behind the door. He had swapped his state of undress, tying up a spider silk shirt but removed of the loose sleeping pants and in only underpants. 

“Well, this is the first female you’ve taken in.” She said, looking him squarely in the eyes, “Clearly she doesn’t think of herself as part of the band and clearly you’re not treating her as such, so what is she doing here?” 

He disappeared again and said, loudly enough for her to hear, “Aren’t we a clever little surface elf. She’s been adopted by House Baenre, but she had an idea that sounded…” he strode out again, light lizard skin pants now pulled on and adjusting the tilt of his hat, “profitable.” 

Tega waited for him to continue while he pulled on socks and then his high boots.

He looked up at her, “Were you around for the destruction of House Do’Urden?” 

“Dinin Do’Urden’s house?” She said, “No, I was not.” 

He looked at her in surprise and indignation, “Do you run around with all of my mercenaries behind my back or only the pretty ones?” 

“I really have no idea if he’s pretty,” she said, “I could tell you the average profit margin of the assignments he is sent on though.”

“Ah,” he said looking almost relieved, “Your record keeping, of course. I’m glad you aren’t spending evenings with him.” He tipped his head back, reclining on the chair, boots now secure, and looking at her, “Yes, it was Dinin’s house. Dinin is her brother.” He took a long pause, “She had another brother too, a younger one. His name was Drizzt.” 

“Did he...die in the house war?” She asked, unsure where he was going.

He tilted his head back to look at her again and smirked without mirth, “No, no he fled.” 

She shrugged, she was fairly certain this Drizzt Do’Urden was not here, she didn’t know all of the soldier’s names so she supposed he could have been, but it would not have slipped by her notice he Dinin had had a brother, he had been quite impressive so far. She had been keeping an eye on his reports. She asked anyway, “Where to?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, “The surface. But really, Tega, are you not going to comment?”

“And he’s living up there? On his own?” She gave a cursory look at his outfit, “The pants are quite dashing,” she deadpanned. 

He beamed at her and winked, “Everything I wear is dashing. No, he is not alone, he is with the dwarves, although he spends most of his time in the forest. Quite the little hero so I hear. He got himself into a mess of trouble down here before he left. Something went wrong on a raid. He save a little girl, so the story goes, his house fell out of favor.” 

Tega’s voice hitched, “What were they raiding?” 

Jarlaxle didn’t meet her gaze, “Moon elves. A hunt such as that is a common graduation reward from Melee Magthere.” 

“And he saved one of them? A little girl? I’m sorry, Jarlaxle, but you are not making me want to be complicit in hunting him down.” 

Jarlaxle stood up and gave her a lopsided sort of smile, “Well, Vierna certainly does, and her new house, the great and mighty Baenre is offering its army and its considerably deep coffers to the effort.” 

“Why would Baenre help her hunt down her wayward brother?” 

“The dwarves he has made friends with live in the fabled and recently rediscovered Mithril Hall which, as I’m sure you can surmise, is fair flush with Mithril.” 

The flippancy that had been in the conversation vanished. She felt affixed to the patch of floor she was standing on. This was not partaking in wars between blood drenched drow. This was a colony of dwarves. Dwarves had never been her favorite race, she found them gruff and short sighted, but she didn’t hate them. They were good people.

She focused on keeping her breath steady and fidgeted with her hands. She did not have to ask what would be done with the dwarven survivors. They would be taken as captives into the underdark. Worked like beasts until they dropped dead. 

She wanted to say, ‘No, Jarlaxle. Don’t do this. Not this.’ But she did not, instead, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and said, “It is quite risky for you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She gave a still little shrug, “Well, in a house war, if you are losing you can switch sides or run back to the complex. Most house wars you do not personally have to be at. But I believe you would be required to be at a battle in a dwarven hall. And if you begin to lose, your only recourse will be to flee into the wilds of the underdark, which would mean a costly and dangerous trip to the surface with no payment.”

He looked insulted, “You don’t think I would win?” 

“We know nothing about the stronghold,” she said almost desperately, “And besides, this Drizzt boy escaped on his own didn’t he? He must be formidable. Can Vierna even beat him?” 

Jarlaxle grinned at that, “He was trained by his father, the best fighter Menzoberranzan, so I do not know. They say that he surpassed even his father in the end.” Pride leaked out of his voice as he spoke. 

“And can Vierna defeat him?” She didn’t comment on the odd tone of his voice, nor on the nickname, ‘Zak’ that he had used. 

“House Baenre can defeat Mithril Hall,” he said with confidence, “And it will be too profitable not to be a part of.” 

She clicked her teeth together, “Jarlaxle-” She didn’t know how to put the words together right to tell him that she couldn’t do it. Unexpectedly she felt competing surges of guilt. She couldn’t attack the surface, but neither did she want to abandon Jarlaxle. The things he had done. Allowing her to return whenever she wished to the surface. The high praise he gave for her work. Protecting her from the drow. Offering to kill Auguste. They had affixed her with a loyalty to him that she had not expected. She felt muddled as to how to express something she dearly wanted to. He was still a drow. How much of it would he think was weakness? How did you tell a drow that you would give up days under the sun and nights of sleep on projects that would make him flourish but you could not do this one thing? Of course she would not be a part of the fight, but she had seen herself that her work, making estimations, running numbers and doing calculations, helped the Bregen D’aerthe be more effective. It would help them slaughter dwarves. 

She looked up from her hands to find Jarlaxle directly in front of her. Without his boots, he moved so quietly he was nearly ethereal.

“I know that this will disappoint you,” he said softly, “but you can’t help us with the attack on Mithril Hall. Kimmuriel needs to visit a library on the surface, a rather well known and well guarded library. The curators deemed that he requires someone born to the surface to accompany him. To keep him in line. I thought you might enjoy the trip.” 

Again, she failed to know how to align her words. There was too much. His intention was obvious, ‘When we attack the surface, I will send you away. You will not have to be there.’ If it were only that it would still be sweet. But it meant sending off Kimmuriel as well who would be an enormous asset in a war. Done so that she would not be forced to choose her loyalties. It, of course, also meant being alone with Kimmuriel. More than that, being responsible for Kimmuriel.

Finally, all she could think to say was, “I am not sure I will be able to keep him in line.” 

He shrugged, “We’ll talk about it later. I regret that we can’t discuss this further now, I should probably see to Vierna. You should come with me, I liked having you at my meeting with Auguste. Perhaps we will make it a regularity.” 

Dutifully, she nodded and followed him back to his office. 

XXXXX

The human who came to take her away from Meika was not what she had expected in a captor. He was weedy and scraggly. Taller than her and too skinny, he walked rather hunched over. His fingers were too long for his hands. He was covered in a dusting of freckles that extended all the way up his bare arms, across his cheeks, to the tip of his pointed nose. 

He said something in that fluid language of his. She didn’t respond, how could she? 

He ignored her lack of response and carried on, leading her through the windowed corridor. They were at least three levels above the street and the sunlight poured through glass to illuminate the tiled floor. 

Although she hadn’t struggled, he took her by the wrist and pulled her faster, nearly dragging her through the hallway to a solid wooden door. She watched as he extracted a long silver key from his right pocket and unlocked the door. His urgency had put ice in her blood. Was her fate to be the same as the little drow girl’s? Her breath came unevenly. 

Then she saw the inside of the room. There was a bed, yes, through an open archway and half concealed, but it was the main room that drew her interest. There was elegant furniture there, long reclining couches and elegant little tables, but every inch of them was covered in books. The walls were covered in bookshelves but they messily overflowed, leaving the ones that didn’t fit to be stacked up into teetering piles. 

The only surface that was not entirely covered was a sturdy desk pushed against a wall. A lamp sat atop it along with a mess of parchment and paper. He tugged her inside and snapped the door shut behind her. He released her wrist. 

He took a step back from her and appraised her. She self consciously crossed her arms over her chest. She was still dressed in the transparent silks she had been purchased in. 

After he was finished with his inspection of her he said In belabored and heavily accented elvish, “Can you read?” 

She nodded slowly. 

“Good. I am Auguste. You listen to me.” 

“I am Tega.” She spoke slowly so that he would be able to understand her in his clearly rudimentary elvish. 

“Does not matter,” he turned to his desk, scraping the chair backward, “The book are in elvish and common mostly. You do know common?”

“Yes. Some.” She knew common well enough, though they had never spoken it enough in their forest for her to become especially fluent. 

He waved his hand airily behind him, his focus was already back on his papers, “Clean them up. Don’t damage them.” 

She almost choked on her relief. She would not be attacked. She had to clean up books. Her fingers flexed to touch them. 

As an afterthought he turned back and said, “Wear something else. You look like a -” the word he used was in his own language and she didn’t understand it. But she could make a rather well educated guess. 

In a spiteful tone she rebuked, “I do not have anything else.” 

He looked at her with narrowed eyes then got up and marched behind the curtain, to the area of his rooms with his bed in it. She followed him hesitantly. He opened a large armoire and pulled clothes out at random and tossed them to her. 

“Put on them instead. You distract.” He returned again to his large desk, leaving her to tuck herself behind the wall to change out of his eyeshot. 

The clothes were cut for him, clearly. They were too broad in the shoulder and waist for her and too long in the arm and leg. She rolled up the sleeves and the pant cuffs. The material was stiff with a high collar that rubbed at her chin. She had never worn so many clothes in her life, still, after so long in silk you could see through it was more comforting than restraining. 

She reappeared around the corner. He was bent over his desk, writing swiftly, scratching out and editing. She did as she had been originally told and began to sort the books. They were indeed in languages she was familiar with, only a few that she could not. She assumed that the fluid scrawling script was the partner of their flowing language. She could not make heads nor tails of it. She had found three such books that were outside of her ability to decipher. These the stacked neatly and set aside. 

He was easy to ignore as she worked, she was too enthralled with her task. She had loved the books that her mother had left behind, but there had been so few of them. These were innumerable and all sounded interesting. She wondered if she would ever be allowed to read them. 

There was an oddness to this task that she had not felt before, an ease. She didn’t falter and hesitate like she was accustomed to. She saw the space she had and the things to be put there and they cascaded into place. She moved with quickness and surety. She only stumbled when she had to climb on a rickety step ladder to reach the topmost shelves. She could nearly forget that he was there.

As the sun sank behind the window, she finished. There had been more space than there had appeared when she first started, more than enough shelf space for everything. They stood up straight and dusted and tall, all in order. First by subject, then by author, then my title. All but the ones she could not read, which she had left out, stacked in a neat little pile.

She dusted her hands off on her pants and smiled. The human, Auguste, turned in his seat and jumped. He gaze shuffled around to the books so neatly put away on clean and tidy shelves. 

“You are not stupid,” he said. 

Although she knew it was his second, or perhaps even his third language, she took some small enjoyment from how silly he sounded calling her ‘not stupid’ with his poor grammar and barely intelligible accent. 

He paid her no more mind, just got up and moved passed her toward the door. Almost as an afterthought he turned to her before leaving, “You finish clean.” 

She nodded and he left. She was alone in his room. She felt timid and giddy all at once. There was something that settled her bones about the organization work, about taking his piles of nonsense and turning them into something better. She began at his desk. 

His notes were in his own language and indecipherable for her, all of it was indecipherable for her. But she put them into piles and laid them temporarily on the floor. She cleaned off the desk, wiping away dust and the debris from things he had eaten while he worked. She moved methodically through his rooms. The study first, then the bedroom, the closet, then the water closet. 

She had not seen such finely crafted things. The layout mimicked what she had seen before at home, but more secure, the rooms laid out all flat and on the same level. And, of course, this was a room just for him. At home people often slept together, hammocks pulled kiddywompus across rooms. The twins had slept twisted together in the same hammock sometimes even. And Meika had slept above her. 

Her father had had his own room to sleep in, as the chief, but it was not closed off. They had no windows or doors. Just pavilion roofs and open archways. Some rooms were platforms with no railings or walls at all. 

This set of rooms was very closed off, private. It was hard to know you were in a whole big building when the doors were shut. But he had let it get so cluttered. Clothes had fallen off their hangers to clump at the bottom of the wardrobe, the bed was tussled and sleep mussed. Dust clung to everything. She liked the work. Well, she didn’t like it, but it was better than what she had imagined. Perhaps this Auguste was not so terrible. 

She stopped her work. She drew long breaths through her nose. She had remembered something. Something one of the elder females had said while they were in that slavers’ house. 

A younger female, Lilifeil, had said, ‘How can we complain? We have food and bathes. We have water to drink and salves for our wounds. How could we complain when our captors show such kindness?’ 

Tega could still hear her ears ringing with the elder’s response. It was not that it was loud, she did not scream it. It was said with the graveness of a dirge, stoney in absoluteness, ‘Do not ever,’ she had said, ‘allow yourself to confuse the absence of abject cruelty for kindness. If they were kind, they would have set us free and brought us home. If you are a well kept possession or a poorly kept one, you are still a possession. Do not let that be enough.’ 

She would not. Tega whispered an oath to herself. She would act meek, obedient, she would wait. Someday she would see her chance. But she would not let herself feel warmth. Not from Auguste, nor anyone who had a hand in her captivity. No matter anything she might have to do with her hands and her body. She would steel her mind. 

She continued to clean sliding objects to their place. Taking away the dust and the dirt. As long as she belonged to Auguste, he was cruel. 

But that didn’t mean that he could not be useful. There had been a book that had given her an idea. A thick tome, the title in his unreadable language. But it had opened, mostly accidentally, when she had been putting it in the stack. The glimmer of the pages had led her to peek more closely at it.

It made sense for him to have it, he had obviously learned some elvish, could clearly read elvish, and he must have learned it somehow. But the sight of the lexicon had given her an idea. What she really needed was to learn the native language, and to do that, she was going to need a teacher. 

XXXXX

She was not the only one who joined Jarlaxle for his impromptu meeting with Vierna. She sat at her desk, taking notes on what was said and writing quick calculations in the margins while they talked. Jarlaxle was reclining in his own chair. Vierna paced viciously back and forth. But the two chairs Jarlaxle kept for visitors were both filled. Both lieutenants Kimmuriel and the wizard Rai-guy sat stiffly, watching the proceedings. Dinin standing behind them, eyes tracking his sister around the room. 

‘Well,’ she thought idly to herself, ‘Jarlaxle was not wrong about Dinin being pretty.’ 

Kimmuriel glanced at her briefly. She ducked her head and focused on the note taking. 

“Matron Baenre wants the Bregen D’aerthe to lead the attack!” Vierna snarled, “And me to remain back with her priestesses.” The desperation that Tega had seen before shone more brightly than ever. “You will take me with you. Drizzt is mine to kill.”

Put directly adjacent to the males Vierna looked bigger than ever. It was an odd meeting, other than Jarlaxle each of the three males held themselves rather submissively, sitting quietly as she stalked around fuming. Regardless, she was glad Jarlaxle had allowed her to change sweaters before coming back to the office. Submissive or not she liked to be composed around this many drow. 

“Of course he is,” Jarlaxle appeased, “We could not allow someone else to make off with your vengeance. The Bregen D’aerthe will not touch the boy until you can sink your claws into him.” 

She could not imagine a scenario where she would negotiate for the right to murder her brother. But nor could she really understand Dinin. He must have been quite close to Drizzt, and he just stood there letting his sister threaten to kill him. They kept calling Drizzt a boy, how old was he? Old enough to have finished Melee Magthere but perhaps not much more. Kar’Dritch’s age probably. She could take some small comfort that they were threatening the mysterious and formidable Drizzt Do’Urden rather than the mostly helpless Kar’Dritch. 

It was finally decided that if the Bregen D’aerthe was used as a front guard Vierna would be allowed to lead a battalion of them, putting her in the perfect position to kill her baby brother. Jarlaxle was looking positively annoyed by the end of the meeting. 

He rose with a tight smile, “If that is all, Vierna, I will escort you back to House Baenre, I believe it will be best if you remain there until the attack.” To Tega he gave a swift little nod which she took as, ‘Sit tight, I will be back.’ 

Tega removed blank parchment from her desk drawer. She thought, as long as he had had her take notes, she could transcribe them into something brief and usable rather than her quick scribbling. Vierna left with Jarlaxle and the other males trailed out behind them. After this, Tega was rather looking forward to a little time alone, even if she knew that Jarlaxle had filled his other dimensional pockets with drow guards that would remain until the evening. At least she could pretend they were not there. 

‘Did you enjoy your sojourn to the surface, Tega?’ 

She jumped and looked up. It seemed that Kimmuriel had not left with the others. She looked back to her work and didn’t bother to respond, she knew that he could discover with no input from her that she had not. Of course, by asking he had already revealed that he knew she had not had a good time. It wasn’t as though he regularly asked her for updates on her emotional well being. But she didn’t have it in her to give him a straightforward answer. 

‘How did you find the company of my contact?’

At this she did look up. His contact? It was absurd how much anger shivered through her. She should have expected this out of him. Should have known that something like that could never have been mere coincident. How foolish could she be? While working with a drow psion she had had a run in with her old captor half a world away from where he lived? Of course it had been Kimmuriel. She had not felt anger like this in many years. Not since she had been a girl in the clutches of the drow slavers. It had sliced up her skin like venom. He had eaten into her mind and seen Auguste and then gone out and found him. He had been the one to toss Auguste back at her. It was not a terrible coincidence, it was an attack. 

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to fling her chair at his head. She snarled out loud, her voice ringing through the stone office, “Your contact?” 

‘I thought you would thank me.’ 

“Why would I thank you?” She spat. When she got this upset her voice got shrieky and high pitched. In her rage she forgot about the drow guards watching from their hidden nooks.

He pushed into her mind and she saw the imprints of Auguste at the table, making eyes at her and of her flight with Jarlaxle away from him. Kimmuriel’s eyebrows drew together ever so slightly.

‘He lives?’ 

This, even more than his admission that it had been him who tracked Auguste down, made her skin crawl. She got up from her chair and flung an inkwell at him before she could stop and consider what she was doing. 

The inkwell went far left of his head but slowed its descent before it hit the wall, hanging in mid air. The line between his eyebrows deepened somewhat. She could feel the heat on her cheeks. 

“Yes, he lives, Kimmuriel!” she shrieked, “What did you expect of me?” 

‘I expected nothing of you.’ She felt him claw farther into her and she used all of her will to push against him. But she did not know how to fight. It took him hardly more than moments to watch the imaginings she had had. He lingered over her thoughts of putting a knife through Auguste herself. 

Unfathomably the very tips of his mouth curled upward. He forced her mind over the entire incident, from seeing him broad and fat in the sun to leaving with Jarlaxle, his arm over her shoulders.‘“You will eat him alive?”’ He quoted at her, tilting his head, ‘I nearly mistook your inaction for mercy.’ 

She had no response for that but glared at him, biting at her lip. He turned minutely and reached out his long fingered hand to pluck the inkwell from the air. He stepped forward and set it back on her desk. 

‘I do hope that was not meant as an attack.’ 

He turned from her desk and swept out of the room, leaving her alone with the guards.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Jarlaxle had been enamored with the little bundle of notes Tega had given him concerning his meeting with Vierna. So enamored, in fact, that he had decided she would accompany him to all of his meetings. 

Rather than enumerating her fears or lamenting the bite out of her time working on projects it would be, she dutifully nodded and asked only for a day’s forewarning. The next morning, he said, right away, as soon as she would accompany him. So the next morning she packed herself one of her thin slates so that she might write standing up, ink, a pen and clean sheets of paper. All of this she had put into a slim little shoulder bag that Jarlaxle had given her. He had actually given her four shoulder bags and made her hold each of them in turn and walk about his office before he decided which of them she could keep. 

Jarlaxle, of course, was dressed to the nines, every inch of him covered in glittering metal or skin tight leather and finished off with the ever present purple hat. 

He circled her before they left the office eyes roving up and down her figure. Finally he said, “Tega, are you armed in the least?” 

She flushed nervously, “Well, no. I can’t...I really don’t know how to fight.” 

“Yes,” he said briefly, tapping her nose with the tip of his finger, “I have learned that much about you, tender surface flower, but a knife would not be amiss.” 

“I don’t have one,” she said meekly. 

He gave a theatrical sigh, “Then I suppose your flawlessly prepared, generous, and indescribably handsome captain will have to offer one to you.” 

He drew a slim knife out of his own boot and handed it to her. She took it awkwardly, not really sure what to do with it. She did not have high boots to put it in and had honestly never been sure how people kept their ankles from being cut when they did that. 

He watched with not little amusement, “Just put it in your bag.” 

She did, carefully sliding into her new bag in a little side pocket so she wouldn’t cut herself when she was pulling out papers and things. 

When her new armaments were secured, he led her out of the Bregen D’aerthe and into the streets of the city. 

Menzoberranzan was louder than she had anticipated. She had always envisioned it as ghostly silent. It was in no way the overwhelming boom and crush of a surface city, but it was not silent.

The Bregen D’aerthe headquarters was in a low ravine tucked away from the rest of the city. It was a beautiful city. The upper stretches of it were limned with faerie fire and glittered in the distance. Every stone of the city had been carved into wondrous shapes, although the beauty was somewhat stagnated by the overwhelming number of spiders carved as decoration. Even from here Tega could see a grand palace that stood above its surroundings, towers built into natural stalagmites that stretched to the roof of the cavern. Around it was high wall made entirely of, she could see even from this distance, spider web. 

 

Regardless of the magical quality of the ambiance, Tega’s heart still hammered in her chest as she walked through the Menzoberranzan streets. The people that filled the streets made her fingers shiver and she had to resist grabbing hold of Jarlaxle’s cape or hand. They were a grim lot, scowling and sneering or dead eyed and lurking. As obviously under Jarlaxle’s protection as she was, no one harassed her, but it was not a place she wanted to be on her own. 

On the way there they took the quickest route possible, zig zagging through streets that Tega could barely keep track of. She thanked the stars for Jarlaxle’s showy outfit then, he was impossible to lose. But he didn’t let her stray, keeping her nearly under his arm as he walked. 

The house they went to, House Maevret, was an small little palace built into a stalagmite. Every inch of the outside of the palace was carved into an intricate inverted cone like a momentous spike. As they got close Tega could see that rings of walkways encircled it, heavily patrolled by female drow in dark armor. 

Jarlaxle was greeted at the gate by a surely set of guards that scowled as he approached. Their armor was clearly not new, it lacked luster and was, in more places that one, in poor repair. They opened the doors for Jarlaxle, as he predicted, not noticing Tega was trailing after him for an instant. Low level guards though they might be, Tega saw both of their eyes crawl across Jarlaxle’s bared midriff as he walked passed then exchange tawdry looks with each other. 

Regardless of odds of victory, there was a small part of Tega that wanted to fight them for it. Of course, having some instincts of self preservation, she did not, and merely followed Jarlaxle through the doors. 

Inside was a thin antechamber, walls claustrophobically close but ceiling toweringly high. At the other end of it, tapping his foot impatiently, was a male drow. He was more well dressed than the guards outside and in the vestments of a wizard. He wore his yellow hair long and pinned into elaborate coiffures. His face was thin and snakelike, with a sharply pointed chin. 

When Jarlaxle got close he swept into a grand bow before the sharp featured drow, flourishing his purple hat, “Ah, it is lovely to see you Eljiel, secondboy of house Maevret!” He said when he straightened. 

Eljiel inclined his head toward Jarlaxle minutely, “Firstboy.” 

“That’s right,” Jarlaxle said waggling his finger at the other male, “I had forgotten. My condolences for the loss of your darling brother.” 

Eljiel smirked rather proudly, looking like a viper, “Thank you. Let me accompany you to Matron Petrizel, she awaits you in the chapel.” 

The House Maevret chapel was a thing to behold, although Jarlaxle seemed none too impressed with it. It was situated in the pinnacle of the stalagmite an inverted miniature of the conic complex. The point high above was covered in what must have been decades of spiders’ webs that radiated out, eventually thinning to nothing. 

There were pews situated in concentric circles inward from the wall, enough space for the entire house to come for prayers and rituals. The pews faced a raised dais that stood in the center of the room. At the moment the dais held an intricate throne on which sat a gruesome faced drow female. 

The female, undoubtedly Matron Petrizel, was the obvious survivor of many terrible fights. She was broader of shoulder than Vierna and probably shorter, though it was hard to tell when she was sitting. She wore unadorned armor and had her long hair bound back roughly. Her nose was smashed, looking like it had been broken more than one time. A scar cut down the side of her face, splitting her top lip and disappearing under a patch over her right eye. Her snake headed whip, five heads thrashing menacingly, curled up from her hip. In her hand she held a short, thick knife that she tapped on the arm of her chair. 

Jarlaxle bowed low, his cape swirling around him elegantly as he did, “Matron Petrizel, you look as radiant as -”

“Save it, mercenary,” she said, waving her knife at him, “I didn’t pay for this meeting to be flattered by you.” 

“May I at least do your daughters the favor of a little flattery?” He scanned the back wall of the chapel and Tega nearly screamed. With her stunted vision she had not seen them so far back, but now that they were pointed out she could not fathom having missed them. Clad in dark armor and dark cloth twelve females stood with menacing looks on their faces. At each of their hips snake whips slithered and thrashed. 

“My daughters require no flattery either,” she said, spinning her knife.

He grinned at her, “Then perhaps we ought to talk about the war that is brewing between your house and Bre’elion.” 

The muscles tightened in her jaw, it was clear she had not anticipated Jarlaxle knowing why she had called him here.

Tega remembered quite well the reports she had received about House Bre’elion, twelfth house of Menzoberranzan. She took quick notes on the rather large size of the army. It was rough but she also jotted down figures of an estimated cost of the war, if played from either side, as well as probable profits. She circled the numbers. 

Hearing her pen scratch a circle Jarlaxle held out his slim fingered hand without looking at her. She handed over the paper and he glanced down at it and grinned. She had added another note that she thought he would be interested in. It wasn’t something he would have heard yet, they had left for the meeting before he had read through the morning reports. House Bre’elion’s secondboy had just graduated first in his class out of Melee Magthere. He would make a strong addition to the Bregen D’aerthe if ever something terrible fell upon his house. 

Jarlaxle grinned at Petrizel, he opened his mouth but she beat him to it, tossing a rather large bag toward him. He caught it deftly and peaked inside, then beamed. 

“That should persuade you not to wander during the course of the war.” 

“Of course,” Jarlaxle said with a smile, “And, of course, a fair share of the profits if you win.” 

“A fifth.” 

Jarlaxle remained unfazed, his weight casually on one foot, “Half.” 

“Half?” she mocked. 

Jarlaxle frowned as though trying to remember something then turned to Tega, “How much was it that Bre’elion offered us?” 

To the best of Tega’s knowledge they had not yet had a meeting with House Bre’elion nor received any formal offers. Her heart hammered and she wrote down haphazardly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ 

Jarlaxle took the paper with a flourish and, reading it, beamed, “As I thought,” he bowed dismissively, “Matron, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor.” 

He turned, sweeping Tega along with him out of the chapel.

Just as they reached the door, Petrizel called out gruffly, “Half.” 

He spun around theatrically, a pleasant smile on his face, “What was that?” 

Her face was dour, “You will have half of the treasure.” 

He threw her a wink, “Then we have an agreement.” 

Tega followed close behind him as he turned and paraded out of the chapel. She stayed tucked up against him until they had made it out of the complex and back out onto the street. She found walking out to be much harder than going in. Tega had feared the entire time that they would be leapt upon from behind. Particularly with no Jarlaxle between her and the thirteen angry females they were leaving behind. 

As soon as they were clear of the complex Jarlaxle let out a laugh and tossed his arm over Tega’s shoulder, “You are truly a mercenary now!” 

Tega’s pulse was racing but she grinned up at him, adrenaline still making her fingers shake a little, “I will compile my notes and give them to you when we get back.” 

He ignored her return to business, he was peering down at the bag the matron had tossed him. Now that she was this close, she could see it was near to bursting with emeralds. His eyes glittered as he poured them through his fingers. He cinched the bag closed and grinned rakishly at her, “We ought to celebrate, come now!” 

She was in no position to argue with him and allowed him to lead her back up the street, his arm still around her shoulder. When they emerged from the labyrinthine maze of alleyways however, they were not back at the Bregen D’aerthe complex where she had assumed that they were going. They were at the end of a long and wide streetway, lit up with faerie lights and bustling with traffic. 

It looked like a carnival, with lights and merchant’s carts littered throughout. Sellers were hawking everything from street meat to jewelry. Shops had heat painted advertisements for magical components and the finest clothes in the underdark. 

Jarlaxle led her through this street, grin splitting his face. The milieu of people stepped out of his way, clearly aware of who he was. If they noticed Tega at all, they didn’t reveal it. Their focus was entirely on Jarlaxle, mostly with a barely concealed mixture of trepidation and respect. 

He stopped in front of a oddly smelling little booth covered in a dirty canvas cover and guarded by what looked like a half drow half orc. Jarlaxle traded him a few copper coins for a spike of meat on a stick. “Here,” he said to Tegao, “Try it.” 

She took it warily, it smelled like hot grease overlaid with overpowering spice, “What is it?” 

“Seasoned rat,” he said simply, “They are quite good!”

Tega wrinkled her nose, “You first.” 

He gasped theatrically and looked wounded, “You don’t trust me?” 

Grudgingly she took a tiny bite of the rat, “Oh,” she said with surprise, “That isn’t as horrible as I thought that it would be!” 

He laughed, “That is high praise in the underdark!” 

He let her have a few more bites of it before snatching it away and tossing it out, “Don’t ruin your appetite on that, though, there is better fare coming.” 

She was not disappointed to be relieved of the meat and continued to follow him through the broad street. She might have actually said that she was having fun, being led through the loud and exotic Menzoberranzan Bazaar. Jarlaxle led her first through a brightly decorated shop that sold spidersilk woven with tiny lights or enchanted to shift temperature and glitter in infravision. 

Gleefully, he plucked out a long and gleaming scarf to wrap around Tega’s shoulders. She blushed, but rather wished that she could see how she looked wrapped up in the twinkling fabric. The blue fabric inset with glittering white lights reminded her of the stars. 

Jarlaxle took one look at her and tossed a coin to the shop owner, “Keep it,” he said to Tega, “I ought to pay you more anyway.” 

She touched the soft fabric of the scarf and smiled, “I keep telling you that. Is all spider silk this soft?” 

He wiggled his eyebrows and winked at her, “And this is not even the nice stuff, you should feel my underclothes.” 

She went profusely red and looked away from him. He ignored her discomfort and tugged her out of the shop and back up the street. He led her passed a myriad shops, whispering tawdry stories about their owners. She giggled along with him, entrenched in the sweetly spicy smell of his perfume. 

They meandered through a number of shops before they arrived at where he was really taking her. The building was elegant with spiraling columns and an arching roof. He led her inside, grinning from ear to ear, “You will adore this place,” he said looking back at her, “I used to come here with a frie- with someone I once knew. We thought it was the best place in all of the underdark.” His lips tilted in a private little smile, “Well, the second best place.” 

She followed rather happily into the warm establishment, he reached out and took her by the elbow, keeping her beside him. 

Immediately upon catching sight of him, the drow male conducting patrons at the door approached them, “The usual spot, master Jarlaxle?” he asked deferentially. His eyes darted briefly over Tega but he said nothing. 

Jarlaxle nodded and was led to a booth near the back that gave them a great deal of privacy. He allowed her to slide into the seat first then followed her, sitting beside her rather than across. This kept her tucked against the wall and impossible for passersby to harass. 

He ordered in a rapid drow that she did not understand. It was different than the drow she was used to, more slurred together and rough. Vernacular drow, she thought. It interested her greatly, and she would have rather liked to hear him have entire conversations in the new form of his language to see if she could get the hang of it. But he turned his attention to her. 

Unbelievably, pushed into a little corner of a booth and nibbling off of a plate of mysterious mushrooms and meat slices in the underdark, she was having more fun than on a sundrenched surface veranda. 

Jarlaxle became entrenched in a story about his days at the Academy, which left Tega enthralled. It was not often that he spoke about his past. “So there we were,” he continued, “hidden in the rafters, hands full of stolen mushroom wine and I could barely contain myself! The entire room was filled with the start up priestesses who were looking for us and not a single one of them thought to look up!” 

“Did you escape?” Tega asked, enjoying the mushroom wine she had herself. 

He gave her a wink, “Who are you talking to? Of course I escaped, me and the boy who had gotten me into trouble.” 

She bit back a smile, “I have a hard time believing that it was him who got you into trouble.” 

He glowered playfully, “You, my darling, never had the misfortune to meet Zaknafein Do’Urden, he could get a spider in trouble if there was a priestess around.” 

The name piqued her interest but she didn’t comment on it, not wishing to jolt him into not finishing his story, “So what did you do when you escaped?” 

He gave her an incredulous look and said, “We lay in the rafters and drank our stolen wine, of course!” 

She laughed and he gave her a warm little smile that tugged the corners of his lips up, “And what have you ever done that is worth the telling? I’m sure you have not gotten up to many misdeeds.” 

“I have not had many adventures,” she said shyly, “At least not the kind that make good stories.” What did she have to tell him? Her grandest adventures were being captured by the drow and used by a Calishite. Not exactly tales of cavalier excitement. 

“I am not surprised, coming from the elf I found smelling of vanilla and draped in a sunshine yellow apron” he crowed. He lifted his arm and he paused for a part of a second, his smile only just faltering and dropped then he dropped the arm around her shoulders, tugging her against his side. He was partially reclined, with his feet wedged against the booth seat across from them. Now flush to his side and blushing, Tega put her feet up as well, although less wantonly as Jarlaxle’s and allowed herself to lean against him. 

She was feeling a ludicrous number of butterflies in her stomach. ‘He is my employer.’ She told herself sternly, ‘It would be irresponsible and unprofessional to become involved with him.’ It was difficult to listen to her own advice. He smelled very good and it was impossible to ignore the musculature of his arms or torso while she was this close to him. 

‘Perhaps just this once you can do something wildly ill advised.’ She thought to herself temptingly. She reasoned with herself, ‘It isn’t as though you aren’t already in danger just being down here and clearly the drow would not find it unprofessional.’ 

This was not the first time that she had not been able to reciprocate an exciting story. How grand might it be if the next time someone told her about their rambunctious exploits she could tell them about taking a devastatingly handsome drow mercenary as a lover. 

It was an easy thing to convince herself of with the heady weight of Jarlaxle’s full attention upon her. He was looking down at her, lips, very soft looking lips she noticed, turned up in half of a smile. With the hand that was not around her shoulder he brushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His eyes moved slowly from her eyes to her mouth. 

“I did some math of my own recently,” he said. His voice had dropped to that low husky whisper he used sometimes. It made heat flare across her stomach and she fought to maintain eye contact. “Do you know how much our profits have increased since I brought you down here?” 

She hesitated, she did know, but it felt indecent to say it, especially when he asked in a voice like that. Regardless, she answered him, “Fourteen percent.” 

He repeated her words in a reverent tone, “Fourteen percent. Those are...great gains.” The hand that was about her shoulder dropped to her waist and tightened its hold, pulling her nearly flush against him. 

Her head was buzzing with thoughts she usually did not allow herself to linger on. How warm his skin would be against hers. The deftness of his fingers. His soft lips and sharp white teeth on her throat. How her name would sound when he was raggedly out of breath. 

She was nearly lightheaded, their faces so close to touching she could almost feel him. 

The glint from his one visible eyes was nearly predatory as he tilted her chin upwards. Heat radiated where his fingers touched her flesh and she could barely draw breath. 

Before he made another move a cheering and raucous laughter erupted from the center, and much more crowded, area of the establishment. Tega took her attention off of Jarlaxle for less than a moment, eyes slipping over to look passed him. 

She transformed in his arms. She had been warm and pliant a moment before, eyes shimmery behind her glasses, lips slightly parted. In an instant it was gone. Her eyes hardened to stones and her body turned rigid. She pushed back away from him with all the wildness of a hook horror.   
Jarlaxle turned his head, sword already appearing in his hand, thinking some threat must be approaching. 

He swore. “Vith! I forgot.”

They could only see a portion of it from their booth which was set back in a corner, but she had seen enough. Three drow were leading a line of surface elves onto the platform. The elves were barely dress, draped loosely in spider silk, the one in the center covered in nothing but thin trails of golden chains. Around their necks were spindly silver collars attached to metal chains that locked them to hoops on the platform. 

Tega’s body was entirely rigid. Her body forgot how to pull air into her lungs. Blackness crept in on the edges of her vision. Her heart was beating too fast, so fast it hurt in her chest. Every inch of her flesh was struck simultaneously with overpowering dread. Fear so visceral that she fought an instinct to attack Jarlaxle and push him away from her. It had beset her like an attack, sudden and unstoppable. 

Jarlaxle swung himself up to his feet and pulled Tega up with him. Jarlaxle released her when she was up, he thought he would make it worse, holding onto her, but the moment she was not caged in by him she lost the battle she had been fighting against her instincts. She fled, away from Jarlaxle and toward the door. He lunged forward to snatch her by the wrist but missed by a hair’s breath. He swore again and leapt after her. 

Her calm and orderly brain, usually so careful and logical had had its control thoroughly wrenched away. Instinct fed on terror guided her mad dash through the restaurant and out of the doors. Being drow, none of the patrons did more than watch with amusement as Jarlaxle bounded after what they assumed was a wayward captive. 

She had slammed the door after her and Jarlaxle lost precious time stumbling back and reopening it. When he had and was finally out of the building, she was no where in sight, lost to the streets of Menzoberranzan. 

XXXXX

It had not been difficult to convince Auguste to teach her his own language, not with the promise of helping him to improve his belaboured elvish. He was not a poor teacher and soon, much sooner than she had anticipated, she was able to speak in short sentences of his native tongue. 

“You are clever,” he said slowly in his own language, “Much more clever than the harlot slaves my mother usually buys me.” 

His mother had been the woman who had taken them here from the auction house. Tega had only seen her a few times since her arrival. More often, she saw his sister, a woman slightly older than he was. It was his sister who made use of Meika. 

The comment had repulsed her and she felt only pity for the slaves that had not lived up to his demands. But she smiled as though the comment gave her pride, “I am happy,” she started slowly, the lyric words awkward on her tongue, “That you think me clever.”

His mouth tilted into a cocky smile, as though he had given her a gift, “You are going to be useful.” 

Again she tried to look demure and grateful, “I would like very much to be useful to you.” 

Meika had been quick to warn her about Auguste. His mistress, Alexandrie, had enlightened him. 

‘I would say your goodbye’s to your sister now,’ he had quoted her, ‘My brother, he goes through slaves like rats through a corpse.’ She did not come back to their sleeping chambers with bruises or bite marks, but then, Alexandrie had not sold her last six slaves into brothels when she tired of them.

Tega was indeed happy to be useful to Auguste. 

He seemed happy with her so far. She kept his library and bedchambers immaculately tidy. Although he seemed the most pleased that she could do this nearly silently while he worked. She was not agile for an elf, but when compared to humans she was still rather clever on her feet and made almost no noise walking about his safe little rooms. 

And, of course, she was teaching him elvish. 

“That is enough of a lesson for today,” he announced, brushing her aside, “I have work to get done.” 

She took her dismissal, retreating to the bookshelves to dust and he turned back to his desk. His work had something to do with numbers, she had discovered. This was a branch of knowledge she knew nothing about. She was immensely curious about it, but she did not dare ask. How much mathematics would he expect someone ‘clever’ to know. He might be disappointed that she knew nothing. She could not afford to allow him not to find her useful and amusing. 

Aside from the dread of dismissal that lived inside her whether awake or asleep, her biggest obstacle was boredom. The problem was that Auguste didn’t do much by way of mess making. He got books out sometimes and twice a day left clothing strewn across the floor, but mostly he just sat at his desk and he worked. 

Her only instructions were to keep his area clean. And she had. His room was spotless and flawlessly organized. She stood by his window, trying not to tap her foot or make any noise. She had been doing this for two weeks now. She could scrounge up about an hour of work to do, and he usually occupied her with language lessons for a few hours, but other than that she could only stand and be quiet. 

There was only so much of it that she could take. 

She took a deep breath and said hesitantly, “M-master Auguste?” 

He turned to look at her, scowling at the interruption, “Yes?”

“Is there - is there anything else you would have me do?” 

He shrugged, “No.” 

“Then…” she looked around and bit her lip, “Then...could I...I don’t wish to be too bold… could I read one of your books?” 

“If you damage any of them I’ll have you flayed.” 

“Does that mean that I can?” 

“You might as well, you might even find something interesting to talk about.” Impatiently, he turned back to his work and ignored her once more. 

She took a book immediately. She had cleaned the shelves enough to have chosen exactly which one she would read first, if given the chance. A Treatise on the Wandering Stars by Furglorph Walden. 

It entrenched her immediately. The sordid state of her life ripped off of her like a snake skin. She had read the few books that her mother had left for her so many times that she did not entirely remember what it was like to read something that she had never read before. The writing of the book was small and precise, and she held it close to her face, her nose nearly pressed against it. 

She devoured the book, wishing only that she had paper to write things down. She could imagine the stars alive before her as she read. She had not known that some of the stars wandered the sky. 

Neither did she notice the light becoming dim behind her. Her elven eyes had no trouble reading in the shallow light. Her eyes did not leave the pages until she reached Walden’s conclusion. She stared at the last blank page of the treatise then reverently closed it. 

When she looked up, Auguste was watching her. He was straight backed in his chair, odd expression on his face. 

“You finished it.” He said. He had lit his lamp, his skin looked golden in the soft light. 

“It was not so long,” she said. 

“And what do you think?” He asked.

“I beg pardon?” 

He glowered, “What do you think, girl, about the book? What are your thoughts?”

She considered slowly, she both had to consolidate her thoughts and respond in either simple enough elvish words that he could understand or labor through them in Calishite. 

“I know little about the stars,” she began, “It seems odd to me that some stars would wander when so many remain affixed.” 

“And what do you make of that?” 

She gave a noncommittal answer, “There is more to be learned.” 

He sneered and fear lanced through her chest. She had not answered correctly. She could almost hear his cold voice condemning her to a brothel on the streets. 

“There is always more to be learned,” He said in a horrible voice, “What do you think! You read the whole thing straight through, sitting there so nicely and now you do not even have a single thought about it? What use are you?” 

“I cannot think of new ideas,” she said desperately. It was hard for her to say anything nuanced in a language she barely knew.

His eyes were ice and his voice terrible, “Should I send you off?” he threatened, “If you cannot even come up with intelligent things to say how could you be worth keeping? I am sure you would do well keeping beds warm.” 

She shook, how had this turned to poorly, “Perhaps they are not stars!” She said this wildly, looking for something that might make him keep her. She had no basis for it, had not really thought it. 

“What do you mean by that?”

She drew her metaphor from the only thing she could think of, looming death. “Perhaps,” she started weakly, “It is like eyes flashing in the darkness. If you can only see the eyes they look the same. You do not know if it is something harmless or a beast in the night.” 

He leaned back and smiled, “You see, girl, you just had to have the right incentive.”

She nearly balked. The right incentive? Is that what he called it? Threatening to sell her to a whore house. She had the good sense instead to look down demurely, “You are right. Thank you.” 

“Read something else, keep reading.” 

“Oh, alright.” The command was an awkward one, but she was happy to oblige. She returned the treatise to its spot on the shelf. She would have felt uncomfortable choosing another book with him watching her, but as soon as he had finished speaking his attention had returned to his work. 

She slid another book out of the shelf, a longer tome this time, heavy and bound in leather. This she would not finish in a night. She had kept the same theme, selecting another book about the stars. 

She settled back into the corner of a couch that she had been occupying and pulled her knees up to her chest, balancing the book so it was wedged between her legs and her face. 

She read late into the night. At first this book held the same mystique as the first, plunging her deep into its mysteries. Slowly, however, an ache grew in her eyes and her head began to throb. The moon rose behind her and she longed for sleep. But she dared not drift off nor ask for a reprieve. He might think her uninterested or lazy. She could not allow him to think either. 

The words were blurring together and she found that her eyes would glaze over an entire page without taking in any of it. She would start again at the top and, trying to get through it, focus so hard on concentrating that she lost her thread thinking about concentration. 

It must have been passed midnight when he finally called a halt. 

“Return to your sleeping chambers,” he said with no preamble. 

Gratefully she got up, noting the page she had left off on and going to the bookshelf to return it to its spot. 

“No,” he said sternly, “You may leave it out. Continue reading tomorrow, when your tasks are done. Here,” he said handing her a slip of parchment, “Mark you page and leave it on the table.”

“Thank you, Master Auguste,” she said, holding in her yawn with difficulty. 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Master Auguste.” 

She returned to her sleeping chamber, winding half blindly through the dark corridors. When, finally, she had made it back, she opened the door and was immediately pulled into Meika’s muscled arms.

“Tega,” he said, holding her against his chest. Regardless of how many baths soaked in perfumes he was given, he still smelled of home. She wasn’t sure why he had grabbed her so willfully, but she nuzzled into her big brother’s chest. 

“Tega, are you alright?” 

“Yes, yes of course. Why? Are you?” 

He pushed back her hair and smiled at her, “Yes, I am fine. You were gone so late I was sure that he…”

“No. No, I am alright.” 

“Well thank the gods.” 

“I am so tired.” 

He scooped her into his arms as he had done when she was quite small and settled onto his own sleeping mat, letting her rest against him. He was built so much like their father. 

“Te,” he said, pulling through the knots the day had left in her hair, “I do...I do wish to talk to you...about something.” 

“What is it Meika?” 

He was obviously uncomfortable. For the first time she really looked at him. The bruises he had had around his wrists and at his neck were fading and had not been replaced. “Te, I will never stop feeling hatred for myself that we have come to this, but I feel...I feel I have to say it.” 

“What is it?” 

“If you...if you have to....if he…” he cleared his throat and started again, “If you must act as though you are enjoying yourself to avoid being hurt or being sent somewhere worse. You...there….There is no shame in keeping yourself safe. I just...I want you to know. You must know, even...even if you do...enjoy him. The only shame falls to him. I will think nothing less of you. It is important to me that you know.” 

She had not known it was possible to feel so deeply comforted and be so egregiously wounded from the same words. How far down he had fallen from the warrior who had spit and fought his captors. 

She laid her head against his shoulder, “I don’t think any less of you either, Meika.” 

They fell asleep on the same sleeping mat. Tega sent prayers to any god that she was not there alone. Gruesome and disconcerting as it was to be one of a matched set selected to appease another pair of siblings, it meant Meika being at her side. 

XXXXX

Tega did not have a heading when she fled the drow restaurant. Out. Away. Were the only commands that made the full journey from her brain to her muscles. Adrenaline had already been thick in her blood when she had seen the slaves. Terror overlaid the excitement she had been feeling, choking her clear thinking like a poison. 

Outside, on the streets of a drow city, the animal’s terror began to ebb, and gave way to a very real dread. She had sprinted through the streets. She already had the attention of the people around her. She noticed for the first time how really stunted her vision was. Her only real hope was to either find Jarlaxle or find her way back to the Bregen D’aerthe. She had no real idea how to do either one.

She spun back around the way she had come, looking for the broad brimmed hat or the shimmering cape. But she saw nothing. Only the press of drow and the smattering of other scowling denizens. The was attracting more than a little attention, a little surface elf that had bolted through the crowds a moment before. 

She began scooting toward an alley. She needed to breathe and to get her bearings. She had thought that Vierna was frightening, but there still she had been in the Bregen D’aerthe, she had known where Jarlaxle was, there had been no real threat of Vierna killing her. But now there was nothing. She tried to console herself that there was still no reason for anyone to murder her. That gave comfort for only a moment. They could murder her for her shoes or her bag. Or drag her into captivity. Take her back to their House for their own amusement. She couldn’t keep her breath even. 

‘This is your fault,’ she chastised herself. She had been safe beside Jarlaxle, had been enjoying herself even. But she had lost her control and ended up here, alone. 

Suddenly from behind her, she felt someone seize her wrist in a bruising grasp.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

What she would later categorize as the second leg of her internment with Auguste began while he was out of the room. It was begun by the same catalyst that started what would be the only true affair of the heart her young life had encountered. There were great tracts of time that she was let alone, abandoned in his chambers with no company. When he went for formal meals with his family or was drawn away to some other task he left Tega to her own devices. Boredom was an impossibility in his rooms being so full of books. If it had been up to her she would have spent the time continuing to read about the stars. But like all things while she was enslaved, it was not up to her, not really. 

She could very nearly convince herself that she could have the time for herself and continue her languid reading, slowing consuming his library. But she could not escape the thought that it would be foolish for her not to understand what he loved the most, that esoteric work with numbers. He fevered over it, sometimes going on long winded explanations of his pet projects, although not in enough detail for her to follow. Whenever she did not understand he would huff, sneer insults and go back to work. 

This tendency had flummoxed her for a time. How might he react if he discovered that she was not even acquainted with the basics? It was in this question that she devised her strategy. She was certain that she could figure out the very basics on her own and it would probably be safe to ask about the more complex parts. 

Late in the day, he broke her from her reading. “Come here, girl,” Auguste ordered sternly from his bedchamber.

Tega rose immediately from her book to attend to him, “What do you require, Master Auguste?” As was her custom, she said it demurely, looking down at his knees.

He stood before his bed, luxurious blue pants done up at his waist, a matching sleeveless tunic undone and hanging on his shoulders. They were both decorated with golden stitching, made to fit snug to his body. His legs, in such close fitting pants, looked absurdly thin. The shirt had a complex system of ties on the front. He had obviously attempted to tie them at the bottom, leaving an awkward knot of tangles. 

It was clear what he wanted and Tega, with only a moment of hesitation, moved forward to help him tie his new shirt. Facing him, and with small elven fingers, it was not hard to do up the shirt, but it took a number of minutes that she spent staring at his uncovered chest. 

She had not ever seen a male less well muscled. On someone she loathed less, it woud not necessarily have been a bad thing, but she was not used to it, her people had been warriors and the male forms she was familiar with were cut with hard muscles. 

Auguste was not. His body was closer to skinny than slim, with the barest outline of his ribs above his stomach. This was undoubtedly due to the many days he neglected to eat in favor of his work. More curious to Tega was the light dusting of coarse blonde hair. It peaked out on his chest and in a little line leading down to his waistband. It repelled her, used to hairless bodies, although she fought against the urge to recoil. She wondered if it was a normal human trait and if human females grew chest hair also. But it seemed impertinent to ask. 

She finished tying up his shirt and stepped back, looking down at the floor. “Is there anything else that you require from me, Master Auguste?” 

Instead of answering he commented in a complimentary tone, “You aren’t like most elves.” 

Tega didn’t really know what he meant by that. Understanding neither what most elves were like nor why she should want to be different. Meekly, she said as much, “I don’t know what you mean by that, Master Auguste.”

He turned to the large mirror that leaned against the wall and began adjusting his clothing. Idly he said, “You’ve been here for nearly six months, all the other elves I have had have always tried to seduce me by now. But you are more interested in my library aren’t you?” 

She focused for a moment on keeping her breathing even. Was personal enslavement the only context he had ever met and elf? She scanned his skinny freckled body and thought of the snide remarks that poured out of his mouth. She could not imagine any elf pursuing him of their own volition. She tried to imagine stripping him of his clothing. The daydream slipped, without her trying, to cutting his clothes from him so they would not impede her when she began cutting into his skin. She did not, of course, give voice to her thoughts and only said, “Your library is quite exceptional.” 

“You see,” he said happily, “You are different. Much different from that red headed whore my sister keeps.”

This made fire burn in chest. Her fists clenched at her sides and she gritted her teeth. It was impossible not to think of the bruises left of Meika’s wrists and throat. Of the deadness that sat in his eyes. She wondered how hard she would have to strike with the letter opener on his desk to impale Auguste’s temple. 

He continued, brushing his shoulder length blonde curls, “Don’t you sleep in the same quarters as he does?” 

“Yes, Master Auguste.” 

He twisted and looked at her, eyes scathing, “He is not as light fingered with you as he his with my sister is he?” 

Disgusted and offended she could only manage a stiff she responded, “He is my brother.” 

He shrugged, “Yes, I know, I’m not familiar with elvish customs regarding such matters.” 

It didn’t matter how much vitriol smoldered under her skin as long as none of it showed on her face. Her brother was being used by his owner, had been torn away from his wife and this boy dared to suppose he raised a hand to his own sister? “He is not,” she said tersely. 

“Good, let me know if he misbehaves, we will have you moved to your own chambers.” How do I look?” 

“Excellent, Master Auguste,” horror rose up in her. The only solace she had was evenings with Meika. It was the only time that she was not alone. That she could speak as she felt and feel another body warm with hers. How would Meika bear the brutal treatment of his mistress without her to soothe his aches? How would she suffer the injustice of their captivity without Meika’s tender elvish words and strong brotherly arms? 

If she betrayed any of her emotion, he noticed none of it, “I will be back this evening, my mother requires that I be at a formal dinner. Stay here until I return.” 

“As you wish, Master Auguste,” she said, relieved that he would be soon gone. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep control over her temper. 

Without another word he turned away from her and left the room, locking the door behind him. Tega stood for a moment, pressing her lips together to regain control over herself. But she would not squander her time with anger. Anger was to be used and kept until she could aim it with more potency. 

She took a single circuit around the room, making sure nothing was out of place before she settled in with her new project. 

The book was entitled, An Introduction to Arithmetic. It was a thick volume and very worn, the spine nearly falling apart. When she flipped open the front cover a messy, childish hand had written ‘From the Library of Auguste Pernoit.’ The ink was smudged as though he had closed the cover before it had entirely dried. She flipped passed the title page and began to read. 

This was a book of magic. 

Not the sort for wizards, but equal to it. Magic written in a language made just for her. When she had made sense of the symbols they fell together with more beauty that she had ever encountered. Like a parasite feeding on the edges of her brain she was devoured. As she worked her way through the pages, tracing the work out on her skin, not having paper, her heart very nearly raced. 

She felt as though the universe, the stars and the sand and the sky, had always been trying to speak with her and she had been deaf and unable to understand. It was this, this was the language of the heavens and the gods. This she felt in her marrow. 

She heard it like a call from a deity to a paladin. The overwhelming need to master this, to be mastered by it. It gave her the sense of rightness laying structure to the bookshelves had, multiplied a thousandfold. Her heart lit with it, butterflies filled her stomach. 

And this was only an introduction. 

She was thus immersed, face pressed nearly against the book to read it properly when it was wrenched from her grip. She gasped and looked up, eyes wide. 

Darkness had fallen while she had been in the thrall of the book. More unhappily, Auguste had returned and she had not even noticed, he frowned down at her, holding the book. 

“Are you ignoring me, girl?” He nearly snarled. “Do you believe that you are anything special, you stupid girl? That I cannot cast you aside? When I call, you answer me!” 

She stood up. She had lost her carefully maintained control, feverishly grasping his wrist, looking desperately at him, “You must teach me.” 

“I will not be given orders by a filthy slave,” he said, throwing her off of him. He raised his hand and struck her hard with the back of his hand. His knuckles jarred on her cheek. They would bruise.

She didn’t respond, the pain was as unimportant as his questions, she seized his wrists again, “The book, you must. It is the universe in ink, the sky,” she rambled, unable to form the words, “Please, Auguste.” 

He looked down at the book and back up at her, her feverish words and the color in her cheeks. He looked at the book that he had taken from her and then back at her consuming eyes.

For a moment he forgot her slight, “You want to learn mathematics?” 

“Yes,” the hunger in her voice was unmistakable, beyond her ability to conceal. Already, book out of her hand, she felt a pull toward it, as though the world had become scaled in grey. 

“What do you wish to learn?” There was something in his voice that was not quite judgement and not quite lust. 

Sensing his interest she took his wrist again, eyes wild, holding his gaze fiercely with her own. In the horrible instant that she could have lost what she had so carefully maintained she was unable to care about what he thought of her or her elegantly thought out schemes. She could only demand introduction to the vice that had taken her, “Everything.”

It happened before she could put each of his individual motions into something cohesive. He dropped the book. He gripped his hand on her waist. He tugged her forward. The fire that had leapt inside her had spread to him like an infection. Blotches of red were painted on his cheeks as he stared at her demanding eyes. He kissed her on the mouth. 

The magic that the mathematics had put into her blood flickered away and she was entirely herself again. Standing in someone else’s library being kissed by a human who owned her. Who had just struck her in the face. What she wanted to do was push him away, to cry and run to Meika. She wanted to hide in his big arms and never be kissed again. 

But she had the presence of mind to kiss him back. 

He pulled back and looked at her with a mesmerized expression, “Of course I will teach you.” 

As though he had been burnt he released her waist and nearly leapt back, looking down at the floor, pink creeping up his cheeks. Unfathomably, he looked embarrassed. 

In a voice much softer than any he had ever used he said, “You may - you may retire for the evening.” 

However badly she wanted to, she did not flee before stammering, “Goodnight, Master Auguste,” she said, then turned to the door. 

When she was nearly through it he said, “Goodnight, Tega.” 

She did flee down the hall, racing from his chambers to her own. She stopped just short of the corner before her door. A guard would be outside the door. Not the human male Lex who was regularly there, a night guard whose name she wouldn’t know. She waited behind the corner, getting her breath back, then slowly walked around and faced him. 

He didn’t say anything, but unlocked and opened the door for her, allowing her inside her chambers. Meika was not there. Disappointed and still trembling she threw herself onto his sleeping mat, wrapping his quilt around herself. 

It was not that Auguste’s kiss had been so terrible. Yes, yes it had been an indication of what was to come. But even that did not frighten her so much. Meika survived it. She had prepared herself for it. But she had thought it would be bound wrists and angry lust. This is what she had prepared herself for. For shutting down and letting time march forward. 

He had kissed her shyly. Looked away after. Called her by name. 

She knew that she could not hurt him or disappoint him. She had a game to play, for her own sake and for her brother’s. If he thought romance had anything to do with what was between them she would allow him. 

As she lay there, a terrible thought came to her. Auguste was young and impulsive. He thought himself so smart. If he began to think that he loved her, if he thought that she loved him, might he release her brother as a favor to her? Could she use someone’s heart like that? Could she take his own emotions and strangled him with them?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

XXXXX

On the streets of Menzoberranzan, Tega was not faring well. A hand had snatched at her by the wrist. She stumbled and tried to swing around. She prayed it was Jarlaxle, or hell, even Kimmuriel, but it was not. A drow male she did not know held her. His hair was chopped roughly, his clothing poorly cut. The smell of the street oozed off of his skin.

He smiled a yellow toothed smile, and hissed, “You look lost, little fairie.” 

Terror spiked through her again and she tried to pull her wrist away. She knew the theory, break toward the thumb. She had always been told that it was easy and did not require much strength, but she could not do it. Her wrist was held fast by the drow. 

She shoved her other hand into her bag and withdrew the knife Jarlaxle had given her, thanking the stars that he had imposed it on her. 

She stabbed at her attacker, all her strength behind the blade. With laughable ease he turned the knife away, disarming her with his free hand and spinning the knife until it was he who held it. He licked his lips and pressed the knife against her ribs. “Come on now, don’t be like that.” 

She wanted to scream and fight but the knife was pressed so tightly to her skin she could barely move without it cutting in.

His breath on her face stank of the spice that had been on the street rat. “D’you know how much they’d pay for something like you in the right place? The nobles especially like a female they can cut on.” 

She whimpered, twisting her wrist futilely as he pulled her inexorably toward the alleyway.

He dug his fingernails into her wrist and poked with the knife. She yelped in pain, feeling her skin open up and blood eek out. 

“Won’t bring your price down if I amuse myself first though,” he said with a snarl only a drow could create. He pulled her successfully into the alley and rammed her against the wall, knife cutting deeper into her side. No one on the street gave them any mind. 

Belatedly remembering it, she tried to move quickly enough to reach up and touch the pendant that called Jarlaxle. But when she did he slashed at her, cutting her deep across the hand. As she pulled her hand reflexively backward he shifted, easily holding both of her wrists with one of his hands, the other still wielding the knife. 

It came upon her with crushing certainty. There was nothing that she could do to prevent this. She was entirely helpless, her fate in the hands of a ferocious low born drow. She could not stop the tears when they came, even if they made her captor smile in glee. 

She closed her eyes, if this was to be in the memories she would have to keep, she would minimize how much of that smile she had to see.

A surprised voice interrupted the attack, “Tega?” 

She and the drow captor both looked up. Hope sparkled in her eyes, irritation in his. 

Desperately she called out, recognizing the slim male who stood at the edge of the alley, “Kar’Dritch?” 

He was dressed much differently than she had seen him before, more elegant. His clothing was undeniably expensive, tailored just for him she would guess by the way they fitted to him. Over his left breast was a silver embroidered insignia. It was an insignia even she recognized, one that every inhabitant of the city would recognize: House Baenre. 

He looked down his nose at her captor, looking every bit a noble. “Release the elf.” 

Her captor spit, “Who are you?” The knife bit at her again and she gasped. 

“An agent of House Baenre.” Kar’Dritch said loftily. 

Her captor frowned, even if it was just a Baenre agent and not a proper noble, it was clear he didn’t want trouble from that house. 

“What’d’ya want with the faerie?” 

“She belongs to my house. I do hope you have not damaged her.” 

The knife disappeared from her side and he pushed her forward at Kar’Dritch. No amount of gold, it seemed, was worth a fight with a Baenre. 

Kar’Dritch caught her when she stumbled, taking her by the wrist ruthlessly, he looked at her with an expression she had never seen on him: abject cruelty. In a tone that spoke of vengeance he said, “You will regret running from House Baenre, iblith.” Then he looked back up at her attacker, carelessly he tossed a silver coin to the other male, “Well, run along.” 

He did, unhappily disappearing into the crowd, leaving her and Kar’Dritch alone in the alley. His grip on her wrist loosened somewhat.

“What are you doing out here?” he hissed. 

She could barely find words. Her breathing was still erratic and labored, her hands shook to her elbows. She wanted to throw her arms around him and burrow against his chest. But she did not. They were still on the streets of a drow city. 

When, finally, she could draw together words all she said was, “Dritch, gods above, you’re alright.” 

He pulled her farther into the alley, away from the prying ears of the street, “I’m alright?” he said incredulously, “What in Lloth’s name were you thinking, out here alone?” 

“I was with Jarlaxle. We...we were separated. Thank you. Thank you.” 

He laughed softly, “We are even now, yes?”

She wiped the frightened tears off of her face. Seeing Kar’Dritch again was so wonderful she was shaking away her terror, “Sure, sure. Why are you - I mean, you are an agent of House Baenre?” 

“Well yes,” he said, looking rather grand, “I thought you would know. I am Gromph Baenre’s consort.” 

“Working for the Bregen D’aerthe?” 

He flinched, “Shout about that why don’t you?” he scolded, “I worked hard for my position and it benefits the Bregen D’aerthe greatly.” 

She smiled at him, she would much prefer to talk about this than how near her scrape had been, “Congratulations, Kar’Dritch,” she said happily, “I’m proud of you.” She wanted to get him to tell her about himself, so she could calm herself down, “What is Gromph like?” 

His eyes twinkled mischievously, “Well he is a wizard.” 

“What does that mean?”

He winked at her, “Good with his hands.” 

She hit him playfully. The long minutes of terror having abated left her feeling nearly giddy. “I ought to call Jarlaxle.” 

“You could call Jarlaxle this entire time? What is the matter with you?”

She blushed, “Well...well I was in sort of a tizzy and...I forgot that I had it.” She reached up to her necklace and pressed against it. It grew warm on her skin in a brief pulse. 

“I’ll wait with you until Jarlaxle comes, I was sent to have words with him.” 

“Can anyone see us down here, do you think?” She asked.

He looked up the alley, “Probably not, why?” 

She threw her arms around him, pulling her face against his chest, nestling. She sorely missed those few nights that he had spent in her bedchamber. She had never liked sleeping alone. Drow did not casually touch. She yearned for it. 

“I miss having you around,” she said softly. 

He gave her a half surprised, tender look and replied, “I miss you as well, Tega, more than I anticipated.” He put his arms around her as well, laying her head beside hers. He was not big enough to put his head on top of hers, they were roughly equal in sizes, and he held her back with gusto equal to hers. 

With her face so tucked into his hair she noticed the glitter no longer woven through his ice white hair, “You took out the crystals in your hair!” 

He touched his hair lamentingly, “Yes, well, Gromph said they looked tawdry and got in the way. But I do miss them.” 

Loud clicking of boot heels on pavement made them spring apart and whip around. Jarlaxle came up the alley, fury in his face and swords in his hands. He had not progressed halfway down the alley when he saw that the person with Tega was Kar’Dritch. The swords disappeared and the firmness of his shoulders eased. He rushed to her.

“Tega,” he said. His voice was rough. He grabbed her by the chin and inspected her, “You’re bleeding.” 

Incredible relief filled her seeing Jarlaxle again. He kept touching her hair, pushing it back and tucking it behind her ears. 

“Can we go back to the headquarters?” She asked him. 

Jarlaxle took his eyes from Tega and turned his head to her savior, “Kar’Dritch, how fortuitous it was that you found her.”

Kar’Dritch nodded once, “Jarlaxle,” he said in a businesslike tone, nearly a chilly tone. For a ludicrous moment Tega remembered him sprawled over Jarlaxle’s desk, looking at him much differently than he was looking at him now. 

Dritch carried on, “I was here because I was sent after you, Gromph sent me to give you word, Matron Baenre wishes to have a council with you, immediately, concerning the war. It would not do to keep her waiting.” 

Jarlaxle scowled, looking harassed “Now?” 

Kar’Dritch shrugged, “You know how she is.” 

Jarlaxle heaved a sigh and twisted a bracelet on his wrist. Almost immediately a blue portal opened beside them. “Wait for me here, Kar’Dritch, I will not be but a moment.” Impatiently, Jarlaxle pulled her through the portal. 

She had expected them to emerge in his office, but that is not where they were. 

They stood in a small chamber, only slightly bigger than her bedchamber. The walls were entirely covered in books, an elegant bed against one wall. Meticulously organized desk monopolizing the center of the room. Sitting at it in a stiff backed chair was Kimmuriel. 

Jarlaxle gave him a lopsided grin, “We ran into a spot of trouble, but I am being called away. Patch her up for me, won’t you, my loyal lieutenant? No, no,” he said as the portal grew smaller, “Leave that open for a moment, I really must be off.” He turned to Tega and said, “I am sorry to run, but when Matron Baenre calls…” he trailed off and shrugged. 

And he disappeared through the portal, abandoning her in Kimmuriel Oblodra’s bedroom. 

The portal closed after and the two of them were entirely alone. 

She looked away from him, tenderly touching the small stab wound at her side. It wasn’t very deep, she was not in any sort of danger, but it was bleeding quite a lot and didn’t feel particularly good. 

Kimmuriel wasted no time plundering her mind for what had happened. 

‘That would not have happened if you had kept your control.’ He commented unnecessarily. 

“Very helpful, Kimmuriel,” she said, touching the slash on her hand. It was her right hand too. 

‘You expect me to help you?’ He said, standing so he stood over her, he was playing over the events of the evening more slowly in her mind.

“You know, you could just ask me what happened?”

‘Why ask for what I can take?’ 

Blood still pulsing from her hand and her side she stalked closer to him, her face turned up so it met his with bared teeth. Emptied of fear and anxiety, she could only bear the brunt of the anger that he cause to lash up from her. “Because, lieutenant,” she snarled at him, “you will never be able to go to that library that you want to if I don’t escort you.” 

He thought back a response before even all of her words were out, ‘What makes you think I care enough about that for it to do you any good.’ 

She gave a brief, mocking laugh. The adrenaline was still pulsing in her blood and she had felt too much fear already to have much to spare for Kimmuriel. “You are willing to go to the surface for it, and to ask Jarlaxle that I come as your escort. You wouldn’t do that for an idle curiosity.” 

He sneered, looming over her, his next thought cut into her like glass, ‘If you do not escort me you will take part in the expedition to Mithril Hall.’ He filled her mind with images of bloody dwarves chained in long lines, dragged without mercy into the bowels of the underdark. 

“Dwarves be damned,” she spat, “Stay out of my head or you won’t be going to your library.” Even without prying into her brain he could see that, at least in that moment, meant every word of her threat. 

He lifted an elegant eyebrow and Tega could very nearly see the corner of his lips turn upward, “Very well,” he said aloud. Then his face contorted into a sneer and he said, “Get back to your own chambers, you are getting blood on my carpets.” 

Tega triumphantly retreated, marching out of his rooms and slamming the door behind her. She took a single step down the hall before she stopped, heart sinking. Color rising in her cheeks she turned back to his door and knocked timidly. 

He opened it, expression bored, “Yes?

She looked down at her feet. If she weren’t beginning to feel like she was going to faint and dripping blood with every step she would have attempted to do it without him. But now was not the time. “I only ever go between my rooms and Jarlaxle’s office, I...I don’t know how to get...back to my room from here,” she said sheepishly. 

He looked down at her for a long moment then said, “I can show you,” he paused and scowled, “If you would allow it.” 

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, then she said hurriedly, “Oh, oh alright.” 

Sharply, the map of the Bregen D’aerthe headquarters laid itself out in her mind. It bludgeoned into her head and a cracking headache was left in it’s wake. 

She cried out softly and clutched her forehead in her hands, “Did you do that on-”

“Yes,” he sneered and slammed the door in her face. 

Headache now added to her list of discomforts she shuffled away to her own room to lick her wounds. 

XXXXX

Meika returned to their joint sleeping quarters in the early hours of the morning. Tega awoke with a start when he tried to push her gently over to get into his sleeping mat.

“Sorry,” he said, “I tried not to wake you.” 

“Meika!” She said, desperately. 

“Are you alright, Tega?” He sat down next to her. There were no candles or lanterns for them so their vision was greyscale and stunted. He took her by the shoulder and inspected her. He lifted his hand to her bruised cheek, touching it softly with his big hand. 

“I’m..not badly hurt. Are you ok? You are back so late.” 

“I’m alright, I was taken to a family dinner which caused quite a stir. Then I was kept late with Alexandrie.” He furrowed his brow and tilted her chin up, “You aren’t alright, Te.” 

In a little and breaking voice she said, “He kissed me.” 

She would have understood if Meika had not had sympathy for her. It had been a tender and chaste kiss and she knew what he had suffered. But he took her at once into his muscle corded arms and dragged her against his chest. She nuzzled against him at once, not realizing how shaken she was until he was cradling her. 

“I’m sorry, Te,” he whispered into her hair, “And I am sorry for what may come, I wish that I could protect you.” It was not logical and she knew that it was not true, but inside his embrace indeed felt protected, Auguste could not pry her from Meika. They had been purchased as a set and it had begun to feel as though they were, incomprehensible without the other. 

Tega whispered up at him, “Do you ever think of Trilifeil?” she asked. After she had said it she felt caulous, asking him, while he was in his position, about the wife he had only just gotten before she had been snatched away. 

He didn’t flinch or recoil, but held her more tightly. “Yes,” he said wistfully, “I think of her every day and every evening. She is the last thing I think of before I sleep and the first before I wake.” 

His voice broke while he spoke. Occasionally Tega forgot that, by and large, she had ignored her eldest brother while they were at home and he had mostly ignored her. She had not known how closely he was bonded to his new wife. 

“You will be returned to her,” Tega said. 

“Do not!” He replied roughly, “Do not say such things when you don’t even know if she lives.” 

“She lives,” Tega said, sudden fierceness clawing up inside her chest, “She lives and you will be returned to her.” 

He seemed to take heart at her conviction, but nonetheless changed the subject, “He only kissed you then? That is strange.” 

“Not at all the strangest part, let me tell you.” And so she explained the comments he had made, of her being different, more interested in books than in him. She told him about her loss of judgement concerning the mathematical texts and his sudden shyness, his use of her name.

As she spoke Meika loosened his grip and turned her around so that her back faced him. With deft fingers he began the task of unbraiding and rebraiding the little knots that were tied in her hair, readjusting the beads that he had gotten from Alexandrie. Other tribes of elves, she knew, had coarse hair that could be wound into thick and beautiful ropes. Theirs was too fine to take well to the ropes and had to be content with interspersed braids. 

When she finished her story he mulled over it for a long while. 

“This is a good thing,” he said finally.

“Do you think?” 

He yanked a piece of her hair while he was tying it and she yelped. “Don’t be a baby,” he said, playfully tugging it again, “Yes, I think it’s good. He may be on his way to caring for you. Hopefully that means that he will be less likely to sell you. Alex says that none of his slaves have ever lasted longer than a year.” 

“Is she Alex now?” She asked, turning to look at him, she nudged him off of her hair. “Turn around, mine is good enough.” 

He turned obligingly “Well she and I do spend a great deal of time together. Fix the braid on the left, will you, it’s been pulling at my scalp all day.” 

She worked deftly at his hair, undoing the myriad braids and brushing her fingers through it before rebraiding them, that was her favorite part. His reddish brown hair stuck in the crimped puffiness from the little braids. 

Their braids had been taken out before they were sold and their hair had been painstakingly brushed and oiled until it shone. Putting them back into each other’s hair had been one of the first things they had done when left alone. ‘Preserving their heritage,’ Meika had called it. Tega felt it was much more of keeping a fragment of home with them. Though maybe those were the same.

Sliding a bead back into his hair she asked, “What was the dinner like?” 

“Informatory,” he said, “The two siblings don’t get along well. I can see why, Auguste is a nightmare.” 

“He says that Alexandrie is an ‘easy tramp who can do none of her own thinking.’”

He laughed, “She calls him a stuffy, self righteous ass.” 

“She isn’t wrong.” 

“Well,” he said, turning to face her now that his braids were finished, “Their mother, remember the one who bought us, is who runs the show. They do some sort of trading, although I am not sure about the details. At dinner they mostly bit at each other. To tell you the truth it made me miss Dad.” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged, “I just kept imagining what he would say if I called you half of the things Auguste called Alex.” 

Tega imitated her father’s gruff voice, “If you think that is the behavior of a fitting leader, Meika, I will take you outside and teach you differently.” 

Meika laughed, “And here I thought that I would never again hear him reprimand me!” He ruffled her hair affectionately, “But this family, I understand very little of it.” 

Tega shrugged, “They understand little of us, Auguste asked me if you and I were… you know.” 

Meika’s face contorted in disgust, “Does he know you are my baby sister?” 

“Yes!” She said, mimicking his face, “Apparently he didn’t know what elves thought of things like that.”

“That is the end of chattering for the evening, I think,” he said, “If we have reached that, we should speak no more tonight. Bed.” 

XXXXX

Tega was asleep when the knock came at her door in the underdark. Wearily, she got up and opened the door. Jarlaxle stood waiting for her, tapping his foot. 

“Yeah?” She asked sleepily. 

“May I come in?” 

She stepped out of the way and he came inside, shutting the door after him, “Sorry I had to run off like that and leave you with Kimmuriel.” 

“S’alright,” she said, still bleary, putting on her glasses. 

“Oh, I did not mean to wake you. Are you alright?” 

Her side and hand still hurt but she had bandaged them up and her hand, at least, had stopped bleeding. “I’m fine, how was the meeting with Baenre?” 

“We’ll discuss it,” he said briefly, his visible eye glinted rather dangerously at her, He set his hands on his hips. Aggressive energy was coming off him in rivulets. He stepped back and forth his pacing stunted in her narrow room. “Running off on your own into the streets of Menzoberranzan was the most foolish thing you have ever done.” 

She didn’t have a response, but felt irritated if he had dragged her out of her much needed sleep only to reprimand her.

“Why did you run?” He asked. She was too tired to be annoyed that he sounded more offended than anything. 

“Jarlaxle,” she said slowly, not looking at him, “You know that I was...that Auguste owned me in Calimport.” 

She had been about the elaborate, to tell him about being taken by drow, to confess that some of her family had been taken away by them, that she didn’t know where they had been taken to. That they could have been taken here. Could have been sold to that very establishment. 

But he spoke over her before she could,“So it was just the dancers?” He grinned, “I did suspect as much, I had forgotten that they had them, I am sorry about it.” He shrugged, “You ought to be glad that Kar’Dritch came when he did.” 

“Well, yes, I am. And it was nice to see him again. He seems to be doing well.” He seemed to have glanced over his own question and if he was not going to press her for details of her past, she would not offer them. 

He gave her a saucy grin, “Are you sure you weren’t bedding him?” 

She scowled at him, “It is possible to show affection for someone without sleeping with them.” 

“Certainly,” he said shrugging, “But Kar’Dritch was certainly willing and you had ample opportunity.” 

She went scarlet and stammered, “If there were a matter to discuss, which there is not, it would be a matter between Kar’Dritch and myself.” 

Jarlaxle wiggled his eyebrows at her, “He did not think as much when we discussed it.” 

“Is this what you came here in the middle of the night to talk about?” 

Jarlaxle blinked, “Oh, well no. I came to make sure you were alright. Did Kimmuriel tend to you?” 

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh yes,” she said sarcastically, “He washed and bandaged each of my wounds and kissed them better.” 

Jarlaxle let out a surprised bark of a laugh, “Was it designs for Kimmuriel then, that kept you off of Kar’Dritch? That may be a dangerous path.” 

The corners of her mouth turned down, “The only designs I have for Kimmuriel is wanting to swat him in the nose. He showed me how to get back to my own room and sent me out the door.”

Jarlaxle softened, when next he spoke the sarcasm had come out of his tone, “Then you still have that little stab wound in your side,” he said. He reached out and took her wounded hand. He began unwrapping the, admittedly poorly done, bandages to inspect the wound. 

He peeled back the bandages softly. His visible eye no longer glinted. She loved when he was like this. When the overpowering charm diminished, it altered him, nearly to the set of his jaw and the angle of his cheekbones. It was less alluring. It didn’t make her fingers shake or her heart hammer. But he felt more real. 

“Kar’Dritch didn’t tell you that he wanted to bed me,” she said. It was not a question.

Jarlaxle gave a tiny huff of a laugh, “No, he did not. How did you know?” 

“We have an understanding between us.” 

He considered this for a moment then said, abruptly, “Did you know that little drow are taught that there is no greater evil in the world than surface elves? That every inch of pain and degradation comes from them?” 

“No,” she responded, slightly jarred by the unpredictability of the question, “I know very little about how young drow are reared.” 

Jarlaxle shrugged, touching next to the wound on her hand gently. He drew a silvery orb from his pocket and pressed it along her wound. “For many years I had thought that it was nothing but their nonsense propaganda. But I am beginning to believe that they may have been right.” 

The orb glowed on her hand and warmth spread out from it, pulsing into the wound. She watching it knit itself back together. She didn’t have anything to say to his comment. How could she possibly be more dangerous than Jarlaxle or Kimmuriel? She was not even more dangerous than a random drow on the street. 

“So what as that about kissing the wounds better?” he asked in a whisper.

Her cheeks colored at once, “It is nothing, a silly thing parents on the surface tell their children to sooth their little wounds.” 

He lifted her hand and kissed it softly on the once torn flesh. Warmth crept up her arm. His lips were very soft. 

“Has it been soothed?” 

“Yes,” She said brusquely, “By the healing orb.”

He shrugged, “I did my best, could I see your other wound?” 

She rolled up her night shirt so he could peel back those bandages also. She didn’t know what to make of his statement. How in the world were surface elves more dangerous than drow? She had no idea how to respond so she did not. 

He crouched in front of her, face close to her, now bare, abdomen, looking at the wound, “This must be painful for you.” 

“Well, it certainly doesn’t feel good.” She was not sure if she wanted him to repeat his soothing on this wound or not. 

He pressed the orb to it and it began to heal. It took longer than her hand, but in due time it was erased, leaving not a scar. 

Jarlaxle hovered over the skin of her stomach for a moment and she felt his hot breath there, but without a kiss, he stood up and she righted her shirt, “Thank you, Jarlaxle,” she said, “But I am very tired.” 

“Right, I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to go.

At the door, twisted back around, “Oh, I forgot to tell you in the commotion, tomorrow you will meet your new companion.” 

“Companion?” 

Jarlaxle grinned, “He also hails from Calimport, though he is a human. Perhaps you could help him acclimate. I’m sure you will like him, I find him endlessly entertaining.” 

“...Oh...why is he coming down here?” 

He waved his hand dismissively, “Our dear Vierna wanted an ace up her sleeve against her sweet baby brother. The Calishite is, so I hear, a rival of his. Equal in combat skills. Just, you know, be nice to him.” 

“I’ll set him up with Kimmuriel.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

XXXXX

Meika woke her earlier than usual. Regularly, they were woken by their breakfast being brought in by the sturdy male guard named Lex. But, judging by the sun, it was at least a half an hour before Lex would bring their food. 

“What is it?” Tega asked blearily, sitting up. He had shaken her roughly to wake her, hovering over her. He looked mad.

“I didn’t sleep,” Meika said, and indeed, he was restless and agitated, but steady. He had come to some decision she could see, “I have to talk to you.” He looked like he had when he told her not to feel shame for things she may be forced into, wild eyed and despairing. 

“Ok,” she said, rubbing her eyes, “so talk.” 

“I have to prepare you. You are so...young.” 

“I am not so young.”

“I mean...inexperienced. Was there anyone at home that I did not know of?”

There was a time where this would have been an uncomfortable conversation to have with her elder brother. But captivity, the awareness of what was being done to him, and the now imminent press of what may be done to her stripped them of their inhibitions. 

She could keep nothing of her heart from Meika now. They were bound so entirely. If she were alone, how much easier might it have been to cast herself out of a window or slice open her wrists with the little knives Auguste kept to sharpen quills than suffer what he might have planned for her? If she were not here, how quickly Meika could throttle Alexandrie and bear the consequences? But each would not leave the other alone to torment. The bond of it tore away the childish resentment she had felt for him, always so illustrious. 

“I never so much as kissed someone, Meika,” she said, “Auguste was my first.” 

Meike seized her by the hand and held it so firmly it was nearly painful, “No. He was not. It was nothing but an attack. But that is not my point, you must tell me, was there someone that you felt tenderly for?” 

“I wasn’t so much concerned with matters of the heart. If you remember I had other things to worry over. Why are you so insistent?” 

“It helps, Te,” he said, “If you think of someone else. Someone you loathe less. You must find a way to...to endure. Tega, you have never shared yourself with someone, you do not know.” His blood was high with desperation and despair, “You are a female and it will be different for you than for me. If you cannot find...enjoyment...you will be hurt. Sometimes, I have been told, the hurt is irrevocable” 

“I can withstand some hurt.” 

Meika’s eyes were vicious in their fury and he seized her by the shoulders. His red hair loomed around him, his dark tattoos stark on his skin, now ghostly pale from being sequestered out of the sun. “Do what we must to remain whole and uninjured. Be strong so we may flee when an opportunity comes. That is what you said. Do you not believe your own words?” His terrible tone, stricken with such panic that Tega saw that he clung as desperately to her guidance as she cleaved to his. 

“Yes,” she said, “Yes. Yes. Of course. Is that...is that what you do? Think of someone else?” 

He softened and sat back. There were wounds deep in his eyes, “Sometimes, sometimes.” His voice trailed away. He opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it several times, unable or unwilling to speak.

“What of other times,” she prompted him. Did she want to know? Did she want to be privy to the ways that her brother kept himself sane while being forced into another’s bed? Yes, of course, she had to know, she would have to emulate him. 

He lingered with his silence then, belatedly said, “Sometimes also I think of stripping the skin from Alexandrie’s face, or feeling Auguste’s entrails spilling out over my hands.” 

It was now Tega who rushed forward and took him by the wrists, sharp little nails digging into his skin. Despite his tall and muscular frame, a replica of their fathers and her slight and incapable one, it was possible that they were made of the same stuff. She too felt the claws of violent things burning up in her. 

She whispered to him, “Sometimes I think of putting knives under Auguste’s fingernails, or clawing his eyes from his skull. When I can’t sleep that is what I think of. Sometimes it fills my dreams.” 

She almost expected him, part of her almost wanted him, to recoil. To reprimand her for cruelty and darkness. She made words for him ‘Were you yourself infected by the blackness of our drow captors? Have you been so tainted?’ 

He said no such thing, nor did he recoil, but a wild joy leapt in him and his eyes were alight with it, “Truly, my sister, I could not bear this burden without you.” 

It was then that Lex brought in their breakfast, knocking first, as he always did to herald his arrival. 

“Mornin,’” he said, giving them his rather lumbering smile, “Picked the good stuff for you two today.” 

Tega smiled at him, immediately she abandoned the fraternal fire that had begun to burn between them in favor of good cheer for their guard, “Good morning, Lex.” They had decided amongst themselves that only good things could come from befriending their guard.

Meika stood and took the breakfast tray from him. Meika stood a good two heads above the squat human. His tone had also changed abruptly, turning convivial and pleasant, “How does your daughter fare? Has she overcome her illness?” 

He smiled, “Oh yes, the wife fixed her up real good. Little flower perked right up.”

Meika smiled, “I am glad of it.” He returned to Tega and sat down in front of her so they could split their shared plate. 

“I gotta tell ya,” Lex carried on, leaning on the door, “The old girl’s got another biscuit cookin’, in the family way she is.” 

Tega gasped in exclamation, “Congratulations to you both.”

“Neither of the two of ya know the joys o’ marriage I s’pose, too young, you both.” Lex’s saving grace was his lack of cruelty, it compensated for moments like this where he forgot the state of those he spoke to. 

Meika, it seemed, was unable to bear this comment cheerfully and darkened, his body turning as still as stone.

Lex, bereft of the chilly indifference of his superiors, looked tormented by the change he had affected, “Did I insult ye, Meik?” 

Tega answered for him, seeing possibility looming. She touched Meika protectively on the shoulder and replied, “We were captured from our home during his wedding celebrations. While the dancing still commenced.” 

Lex looked shocked and empathetically hurt, “During your wedding night? What - what happened to your woman?” 

Meika released the sound of a tiger being stabbed and again, it was Tega that responded, “She was taken by the drow who attacked us. We do not know where. Probably into slavery in the underdark.” 

Meika tilted his head to look at Lex, anguish pouring from his lion’s eyes, “She was with child.” 

Tega gasped in abject horror. How had she not known? How had he never told her. The child would have already been born. Could it ever have survived? Thunder crackled under her skin and renewed fury burned at her blood. 

Lex had no recourse but retreat, “Gods. Gods, Meik. I...I gotta go on my rounds. I’m real sorry. Gods, I’m sorry.” He shut the door and was gone. 

Tega seized Meika her aimless fury targeting him, “How could you have said nothing to me!” 

But Meika was grinning, the horrible pain gone back out of his eyes. In a whisper he said, “Do you think that if she had been with child I would not have told you, Tega? Do you think I would not have told all the world?” 

She sat back, “You were lying?” 

He shoved some of his breakfast into his mouth, “Keep up, Te.” 

“If he were caught helping us, he would be executed.” 

Meika shrugged and finished his half of the breakfast, “Te, if it meant getting us out of here, I would kill him with my bare hands and devour his flesh raw.”

He rose and returned to his side of the room, stripping of his sleeping clothes to dress himself. Alex had given him his own clothing that was less encumbering than the silks. Tega pulled on Auguste’s cast offs, still the only clothing she had been allotted. 

XXXXX

Tega met her new ‘companion’ the next morning. Thankful to have had her wounds healed and excited for meeting a fellow from the surface. It would be nice, she decided, to have someone from the surface to spend time with. She had dressed for the occasion in what she considered her cutest skirt and sweater combination. Well, her second cutest skirt and sweater combination she thought bitterly. Vierna had ruined her once cutest outfit. 

She was hoping that she could get to the office first and make a good impression, but she had slept later than usual and he was already in the office when she got there, standing aggressively in the center of the room. A sword hung from one of his slender hips, a dagger, studded with jewels, from the other. 

His effect on her was immediate. She could not have pinpointed what about him did it, but he scraped on her from the second she saw him. The chipper quality of her steps drained out of her and she shrank away, shuffling sideways toward her desk. He turned at the sound of the door and looked at her. 

There may have been a way to make him attractive. He possessed the features, a slim frame, slick black hair and elegant features. But his face was set in an emotionless sneer and only deadness came from his dark eyes. He was Calimport in a man. Beautiful and terrible. He even smelled of Calimport. Human body odour is generally more foul than elves, but the smell of his rotting city was inside of his skin. It may not have been noticed by someone else, but she would not forget how that city smelled. In conjured Auguste and Meika striped in bruises. 

She found her seat behind her desk and set her shoulders stiffly, biting the tip of her tongue. It was only then, sitting at her desk and no longer under the Calishite’s heavy gaze that she saw that Kimmuriel was also there, looming behind Jarlaxle, who sat at his desk. 

“Tega!” Jarlaxle exclaimed, beaming at her from under his hat, “This is the companion I spoke to you about, I am hoping the two of you get along. Tega, this fine specimen is Artemis Entreri.” 

He was a guest of Jarlaxle’s, and a very useful one. She remembered her manners, and in Calishite she said“Nice to meet you, Artemis.” 

In a dark tone he corrected her, “Entreri.” 

Now turned again on her, his back was to Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel. Over his shoulder Tega saw Kimmuriel’s nose wrinkle. Despite herself, she grinned. Entreri said nothing else, glowering cruelly at her. 

Her dislike for him was immediate and intense. But she did not retort nor scowl back. Although Jarlaxle saved her from having to form some sort of reply.

“I was hoping that the two of you would get along!” he said with his normal excited charm, “She also hails from Calimport, I’m sure you will find much to talk about.” 

Tega did not share his certainty. She would like to spend as little time with the human as possible, and would have walked across hot coals before being alone with him. His presence, and Jarlaxle’s excitement over him, made her nearly feel communal to Kimmuriel for his obvious distaste. 

Jarlaxle continued, “I was particularly hoping that you might teach him drow.” 

Entreri interjected, “I don’t see a reason to speak drow, I will not be here long. The attack is set for a few weeks.” 

The looming dread that rose up in her at the thought of sitting for long hours next to the man to teach him drow do the second irrational thing she had done in as many days. She did not know where it came from. It wasn’t a plan that she had thought out, or even something that had occurred to her before she spoke. 

In drow she said, “If the attack comes so soon then so does Kimmuriel and I’s trip to the library. I will be occupied in the next weeks teaching him enough surface customs to get by on.” 

Kimmuriel looked nearly taken aback. Jarlaxle blinked at her, “Oh,” he looked quite crestfallen, “Would you leave a fellow Calishite alone in the underdark?” 

She flared her nostrils, “I am not a Calishite.” 

In her head Kimmuriel thought, ‘You would rather spend time with me than the human? How touching.” 

‘You don’t smell.’ she thought back. 

His face did not alter, but he telepathed the vague sense of amusement. 

Overlaying her private conversation with Kimmuriel, an intrusion on her mind she had decided to forgive him for, Jarlaxle continued in drow, “You are from Calimport are you not?” 

“I am not,” she said bitterly, “I lived in Calimport, I am not from Calimport.” 

In angry Calishite, Entreri bit at her, “What are you speaking of?” 

She glowered at him. Absurdly, Kimmuriel backing her dislike of the man made her feel more able to stand up against him, “It is the language of the land, you can’t be upset if those around you are speaking it,” she said in rapid Calishite. 

“I thought you were supposed to be my interpreter,” he said dryly. 

“If you would like me to interpret for you, you are going to have to be quite a bit more pleasant that you are being.”

If possible, his dirty look intensified. He looked fit to stab her in the heart. There might have been a time where she would have cowered at the expression, but living amongst drow scaled up one’s bar for intimidation. 

“Now,” she continued, flattening her skirt with the palms of her hands, “If you would like a little guidance on how to survive the next few weeks, or even rudimentary ability to speak the native language, I would ask nicely. If you are opposed to that, I have a lot of work to do.” 

She looked away from him and drew the daily reports to her, picking up her favorite quill she commenced with her work. 

Jarlaxle looked between the two with disappointment but said quickly, “Tega will be far too overburdened preparing Kimmuriel for their project to do much looking after you.” 

“I do not need looking after.” 

Jarlaxle beamed, “Of course, you do not. I will show you to your quarters. Tega,” he said, turning to her instead, his voice shifting to be a little darker, “You had better be off with Kimmuriel, his quarters will be fine.” Irritation had crept into his voice and she felt more than a little dismayed to have disappointed him. Although not nearly dismayed enough to request to help Entreri. 

She stood again, “Of course, captain.” 

Kimmuriel swept passed Entreri and she followed him out the door, infinitely glad to be rid of the human. 

Her blood was still pumping from telling off the intimidating man. It translated into her walking quicker than normal, keeping pace with Kimmuriel rather than trailing behind him. 

“The human smelled truly foul,” Kimmuriel said softly to her.

She scoffed, “He smelled like his city.” 

Kimmuriel’s lip curled. She was not sure that she could even contort her face into displaying the level of disdain he was achieving. “The entire city smells like that?” 

“Magnify it a hundred times.” 

“And you lived there?” he asked, disgust leaking out of his voice. 

“It isn’t as though I had a choice.”

They walked along for a few moments in silence before he thought to her, ‘Anything you could teach me I could strip from your mind in an instant. You could be free to help the human in a matter of minutes.’ 

She thought back, ‘If you mine my brain for useful information and leave me to sit next to that foul man alone I will get you to the library door and let you look inside then tell them I am there under threat and have you dragged back out.’

He made no reply, but the corner of his lips tipped upward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I know that this chapter took awhile, but it is sort of a doozy! I am so excited for the next one let me tell you! 
> 
> Drop a comment and tell me what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tega stopped outside of her room and unlocked the door. Kimmuriel stayed in the hallway eyebrow raised. 

“If I’m teaching you, it will be in my quarters, not yours,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. 

“Why?” he asked with a sneer, “My quarters are far superior.” 

“Could you be less like you for a few minutes and just use my rooms?” 

For once, he did not fight with her and walked through the door of her room with only a heavy sigh. 

She closed the door behind him and clicked the lock home, “Ok, so...mine away.” 

“What?” He asked, raising his delicate eyebrow. 

She leaned against a wall, leaving the one available chair for him, “It’s a waste of time to sit here teaching you if you can just lift it out of my brain. So just take what you need and we can work here quietly for the next few days.” 

“You welcome me to rifle through your mind?” 

She sighed, “As though you haven’t done that enough, I might as well get some benefit from it.” 

“Benefit?” He asked, enunciating each syllable. 

“I have a project I want to get done in this library, when we go. I’m going to need time to prepare for it. So can you just take the information you need so that I can work?” 

He lifted his chin to looked at the papers and maps pinned across the wall, “Project?” he asked with incredulity. 

She looked at the papers with affection. Strings roped across them now, linking houses, pinned with colored flags. She could feel him push his way into her mind, uncovering her plans for the mess of information on her wall. 

He got up and looked around at the papers, touching them lightly.

Tega was looking at the wall affectionately. All of her spare hours for months had gone into this. 

“Can you do it?” Kimmuriel asked. His voice was hushed. He didn’t wait for her to answer. He peeled into her mind and lifted his way through her plan for the congeal of data strewn on her wall. Until this she had not realized how brutal he had been with his intrusions. They had been the psionic equivalent of holding someone down by the wrists and rifling through their pockets. 

This was gentle, nearly intimate. The paging through of a book with delicate pages. 

She held very still and let him do it. The moment seemed fragile and she feared that if she said anything, if she moved at all, it would be broken. 

“Do you understand the implications of this project, if you should be successful?” He asked. He had stepped closer to her, looking down at her. 

This broke the illusion and she gave him a sour look, “Do I understand the implications of my own project? Go to hell, Kimmuriel.” 

He withdrew sharply from her mind and returned to his chair, the corners of his mouth twisted down. 

**XXXXX**

“You are taking to this very quickly,” Auguste said as he looked over the mathematics work he had set Tega. 

She straightened proudly, “It was not so hard.” 

Auguste looked at her with soft eyes “I have never seen someone learn this so quickly.” He returned her parchment, “If you keep up at this pace you will soon catch up to me. You could assist me in my research.” 

He had begun to touch her hands or wrists when he spoke to her, to watch her while she worked on the problem sets he gave her, eyes soft. She wanted to retch, to fight him. Instead she would look up, catch his eye, look away. 

He allowed her to work in silence for a long while, nearly an hour. He had allowed her to sit alongside him at his desk, thinking it a privilege. She would have much rather been alone, or at the very least at the opposite side of the room. Her knees ran into the drawers for one thing, the desk being made only for one, and his smell made her want to retch. It wasn’t so much that he smelled too terribly bad, he just smelled like him.

He worked as she did, but he kept getting distracted, looking up at her. 

She had a part to play and she knew it. She finished a problem and looked up through her eyelashes. 

He saw her looking and put down his quill pen. “Tega…” he said hesitantly, “While I recognize our power disparity, I do believe that the two of us have much in common…” 

She imagined stabbing that quill pen through his hands. But instead she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. He froze for a moment, then his hand came up to her cheek and held it tenderly, pressing his lips back against hers. 

When they pulled back from each other his eyes were wide. He swallowed. She was nearly moved to pity at how innocent he seemed. She crushed it back. It did not matter if he understood what he had done. He owned her. He had sent countless others like her to the torments of the streets. She had to keep her heart shut up. Whenever the moment came for her to move she wouldn’t have the luxury of hesitating. 

“Tega…” he said. 

She looked away, blinking bashfully. 

He scooted his chair back from her and turned back to his mathematics, “Tell me when you finish learning the concepts in that book, I can check over your work.” But smiled at his own work when he said it, but did not look at her. 

**XXXXX**

Much to her own surprise, Tega found that she did not much mind working alongside Kimmuriel. After he had lifted the essentials of surface customs from her mind, he had set to his own work. He was quiet and still for hours on end, allowing her to work undistracted. It was odd, though, having him in her chambers. It forced her to think of him as a person, rather than an antagonist that disappeared as soon as he wasn’t bothering her. 

She looked up from her own work to glance at him. His long white hair was pushed back behind his ears, out of his face as he bent over his book. She watched a small strand of hair slip repeatedly from behind his ear and across his eye. He sighed each time and the hair moved itself back behind his ear. Finally, on the third occasion, he released a muffled scoffing and the front strands of his hair twisted themselves into a messy knot at the back of his head. It looked so much less purposeful than everything else about him it made her grin. 

Occasionally also while he worked, a small crease would appear in his forehead and a quill would trace itself across paper that floated beside him. Sometimes he would take the paper from midair with his fingers and read back over it. When he wasn’t infiltrating her mind it was much easier to appreciate the sharpness of his cheekbones and the slender length of his fingers. 

She blinked and turned abruptly back to her project, blush rising on her cheeks. She had better hope he wasn’t infiltrating her mind if she was thinking things like that. To be entirely honest she felt a little silly. Had she not nearly kissed Jarlaxle in a tavern only yesterday? Jarlaxle at least had moments of kindness, even if they were self serving. Kimmuriel was consistently cruel, taunting and testing her. 

Of course, he had handed Auguste to her. _Because he thought you’d want to kill him._ She chastised herself. This made her stop. Hadn’t she wanted to kill him? Hadn’t she dreamed of killing him for years? Certainly he deserved it even by a hero’s standards. But what duty did she have to be kind to those who had wronged her? No one had shown her mercy. She had taken her freedom for herself. If she were confronted with the drow commander would she quiver and then forgive him or would she put a knife through his throat? 

_‘Perhaps you could be quieter with your bloodthirst, if you had not notice, I am reading.’_

Tega’s nostrils flared, “I’m sorry, Kimmuriel, is my thinking too loudly for you?” 

Largely ignoring the vitriol in her voice he replied, _‘Yes.’_

She shut her book, “I know this would make it actively harder for you to invade my privacy, but could you teach me how to keep you out of my mind rather than just berating me?” 

He turned in his seat and looked at her. His unbroken gaze was far different from Jarlaxle’s. Jarlaxle alway seemed like a predator when he looked straight at her. Like a snake that charms. She always thought he seemed to be about to open his mouth and bite out her throat. 

Kimmuriel, the few times his gaze had fallen so heavily on her, was much more akin to a doctor sussing out symptoms. More likely to split her open with a scalpel to see what lay underneath. 

He did not deign to speak out loud, _‘No, although had you asked me a week ago I would have.’_

She glowered in indignation and spoke aloud, not letting him set the tone for the conversation, “What in the gods’ names has changed?” 

He took awhile deciding whether or not to answer her. Finally he apparently decided that he ought to and said directly into her mind, _‘You began to figure it out, did you not, all on your own. You employed a technique I have not seen before and I would see you strengthen it. I protect my mind, the human Entreri protects his mind, with what is most accurately described as walls. A series of barriers that keep a psion out. This has a number of disadvantages, tell me, what are the disadvantages to that?’_

He had communicated none of his usual condescension so this time she played along, thinking back her response clearly, _‘I suppose they could eventually be broken down, if you used enough force. Although, can you hurt someone doing that?’_

A smile lifted the corner of his lips, and he thought, _‘Yes, I can hurt them. Think more, Tega. What is the disadvantage?’_

She did think more. She furrowed her brow and tried to work through it like a drow, to see what Kimmuriel would think of. It came to her like a snap of fingers, ‘ _You know that they are defending themselves I suppose.’_

He gave the barest nod of approval, ‘ _Yes, Tega, and if I know that they are defending themselves, I can redouble my assault. You did not defend yourself in such a way, did you? You led me astray. Fed me things you thought it safe that I had. If you had done it sooner and if I were a poorer psion, I would not have noticed. It was a remarkable strategy.’_

She could feel her cheeks turn red and was glad that the lights were on so they would not glow so brightly in infravision. She had a soft spot for compliments and unlike the freely given ones from Jarlaxle, if she had won a kind word from Kimmuriel she must have earned it. 

He spoke aloud, although his voice was low, nearly a whisper, his eyes gleamed, “When you arrived I thought you helpless. Have you not, always seemed helpless? I have seen in in your memories. Too small. Too weak. But it was you alone of your people who found freedom. Not your skilled father nor your warrior brother.” 

He had not stood but he seemed somehow to be closing in. 

“You, Tega,” he continued, “Always seem so guileless. It is not a technique any drow could accomplish. But you, little faerie, never quite seem like a threat.” 

She fiddled with her skirt, “I am not so much of a threat.” 

What was almost a true smile was on his lips, it was both intimidating and allowed his face a cast of beauty it did not normally have. Although he had not moved she felt phantom fingers brush up her wrist. She froze, entirely still. 

His voice, soft and lush spoke. She could see that his lips did not move, but it came upon her like a whisper behind her ear. She felt even his breath, although it was not there. “Tega, if you wished it, do you think you could have me killed?” 

“Kimmuriel, I don’t want to have you killed.” 

“That is not what I asked.” 

She gave the thought due consideration, “I think Jarlaxle could kill you if he wanted to, but I don’t think that I am profitable enough to warrant your death.” 

Her mind became alight with memories of Jarlaxle leaning over her in the tavern with his glittering eyes and husky voice. Of the way he had curled against her lap when he had been wounded. 

Kimmuriel continued, “Do you think you could convince him of your worth? Have you not always played the long game?” The fingers trailed up her arm and she was burdened with the memories of her manipulative affair with Auguste, who still looked at her fondly, this many years later. 

The phantom touches that were pressing periodically along her arms were sending gooseflesh across her skin. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to watch his long fingered hands rest on the arms of the chair. 

To her own surprise she was rather complimented by the thought that Kimmuriel believed her capable of getting him killed, “Don’t you think you could kill me though,” she added fairly, “And I’m sure you could get the job done more quickly.” 

He arched a slim eyebrow, “Not without raising the ire of Jarlaxle.” 

She changed tact somewhat, remarking again on what she thought an important point of fact, “I do want to make it clear that I would gain nothing from having you killed nor even demoted.” 

“Would you not berid yourself of an irritant?” 

“That is true,” she admitted fairly, “But Jarlaxle would replace you and I would have to contend with another drow lieutenant. You, at least, mean me no harm.” 

His lips twisted down, “Don’t I? Are you so sure?” 

She thought he had pressed her enough that she was within her rights to press him, “You arranged for Jarlaxle to meet with my old captor, for whom you knew I harbored ill feelings.” 

“Most would not take that as kindness.” 

She allowed herself to grin at him, “You gave up your game when you asked if he still lived. You meant him as a gift.” 

With what was nearly irritation he remarked, “Perhaps next time someone offers you your vengeance you might take it, or be considered ungrateful.” 

She might have laughed, “When I didn’t have him murdered, it was not my intention to offend you.” 

The hints of his smile returned, “It is possible I erred in judgement.” 

“What do you mean? That you shouldn’t have given me a man for the slaughter as a gesture of goodwill?” 

“No,” he rebuked, “I had assumed you only wished him dead, and because even an old human could overcome you in physical combat and you have no magic about you, I had surmised it would be enough for you for Jarlaxle to finish him. But it was not, was it Tega?” 

Once more his phantom fingers crept up her arms. They brushed across her cheekbone with what, from another person, she might have taken as reverence. She stiffened. Her own bloody fantasies were laying themselves out. She had dreamed of it many nights since she had rediscovered Auguste, her old lusts surfacing. Kimmuriel displayed them for her, overlapping and back to back. What would Auguste’s blood feel like on her fingers? Would it be hot coming from his body? His screaming might be different than she had imagined it as a girl. He was older now. 

Would he have children now? Would he beg for mercy for their sake? Would she give it to him? She thought of Meika and her heart was hardened. No. No she would not give him mercy. The desire rose more strongly in her than it ever had more powerfully than she had thought possible to contain, a desperate thirst, given strength no doubt by the psion’s intent. 

She wanted his blood strewn across the floor, to splatter on the walls. She wanted it to spurt from him and cover her. She wanted to tell him the things she had thought of him when he had stroked her hair and kissed her skin. She wanted to show him the inventiveness he had birthed in her. 

Her desire to bloody Auguste crested over her, the visions Kimmuriel was emblazoning in her mind nearly blinding her to her reality. 

And then she felt the warm press of lips against her own. 

Instantaneously the visions broke and her eyes, which she had not realized she had closed, flew open. Kimmuriel remained across the room, although he looked nearly as jarred and swept into the moment as she felt. Her hand flew up and touched her lips. 

“Did you-” She started. 

He did not let her finish, he rose and a blue portal opened at his side. 

She leapt to her feet and seized him by the wrist, pulling him back, “Don’t you dare run off after that!” She nearly screeched. 

He turned back toward her and looked down at her, eyes hard. The portal disappeared and he stepped at her. She stumbled back half a step then stood her ground, glowering at him. 

Enunciating his words sharply he hissed, although he still looked taken aback at his own actions, “Did you want an apology, faerie?” 

She glowered back, “ _No,_ ” she snarled, “But you can’t psion kiss me and then run away.”

His eyes burned into her and he said sarcastically, danger cutting through his voice, “You believe you can refuse me leave to quit your chambers?” 

“No,” She said, letting him go “Fine, go if you want, but I don’t think I’m out of line asking you were trying to do!”

He sneered at her, “That is the most idiotic question I have ever been asked, elf,” He snarled, saying ‘elf’ like a slur. 

“Then it should not be difficult for one so brilliant as you to explain!” 

He carded one his long fingered hands through the hair at the back of her head, with the other he seized her by the waist and pulled her toward him, crushing his lips against hers. 

Sparks flickered up her spine. Had she been asked thirty minutes ago what she would have done if Kimmuriel Oblodra were to swoop down and kiss her on the mouth she would have sworn she would stomp on his foot so hard she would break it. But instead, she gripped him by the hips. 

Communicating his request or demand or desire through her mind, using intention rather than words, she complied, turning her head to better accommodate him and parting her lips. Hot and tingling almost of electricity his tongue invaded her mouth. 

She shifted her hand up to his long hair. It was nearly cool to the touch and twice as soft as it looked. She ran her fingers through it and released a pleasured noise. Fire was burning low in her belly. The combination of the bloodthirst he had elicited and the anger he brought out in her being transmuted into desire.

He growled softly, akin to the purr of a tiger and his hands slid down and lifted her. She lifted easily, borne more from psionics than brawn. His hands pulled up her legs to wrap around her waist and he turned slightly, pushing her against the wall. 

The attention of her mind was divided between alternating flashes of her bloodthirsty desires for Auguste, her mathematics project, and, the only piece she was supplying on her own, her delight under Kimmuriel’s affections. 

His own hands were underneath her, keeping her elevated and pressed between the wall and his body. But psionic hands, impeded by neither her clothing nor the wall, scraped down her back and caressed up her sides. 

Her reach was not so liberated, but she had one hand on the hot skin of his neck. With the other, she ran her fingers up the sharp point of his ear. He broke the kiss to let his head drop. Through his swollen and parted lips came a sound that Tega thought might be considered a moan, but the descriptor did not entirely capture the lust that permeated it. It made heat curl inside her. 

Driven by unconquerable need to make him elicit that sound again she lowered her lips to the side of his throat, kissing and sucking upon the skin. As lightly as she could she scraped her nails up his ear again and, when she reached the very tip, tweaked it in the tips of her fingers. 

His voice breathy, he called out, but did not leave her unattended. His psionic hands crawled up, over her belly and across her small breasts, pulling softly at her nipples. 

She gasped against his neck, and whispered roughly, “Kimmuriel!”

Under his breath he murmured, “ _Ishwi,_ ” and it took her all the way until his lips and teeth were traveling down the column of her neck before she was able to translate it as brilliant. 

He telepathed his intent in vague flashes of word and image. His teeth still on the soft flesh of her throat she gasped her assent, “Yes, go.” 

Once more held up by the force of his psionics he crossed the room with her and dropped her atop her bed, coming down after her. He slid his hands up her skirt and she began working at the ties on his robe. She wondered, if she could get her lips against the skin of his chest and his belly, if he would smell even stronger of his tantalizing but infuriatingly faint scent. 

This was madness! She attempted to reason with herself. But she did not feel compelled to stop him or even slow him down. She felt entirely pulled in by the desperation in his movements. Although she had not given this consideration before, she considered the possibility that he had. 

Her fingers loosed the ties of his robe and she pushed it down his shoulders, revealing his lithe dark torso. She leaned up and smelled his skin, pressing her lips to his chest. She brought up her hands and ran her fingers down his belly, nuzzling against the softness of his skin. 

He made a low noise and his hands moved up her thighs and touched her through her undergarments. 

Her nails bit into his sides and she gasped against his chest. 

Psionics were pulling her clothes from her and she fidgeted to facilitate their removal. Frustratedly she pulled his hands from her so she could remove entirely his robe, leaving him in only fitted pants. He sat back on his knees to pull it free from his arms and stopped, looming over her and looking down. 

The frantic aggression that had permeated the first part of their tryst was dimming somewhat, although his chest still rose and fell rapidly. He paused and raised an eyebrow at her, eyes still dark with desire. 

Her breath was also coming harshly, “If you are giving me time to reconsider, you needn’t.” 

A whisper of a laugh passed through his lips and those psionic hands divested her of the top and bottom halves of her undergarments, leaving her entirely bare beneath him. His eyes crawled over her. Psionic touches came in the wake of his gaze, caressing with the imitation of hands, and kissing with the imitation of mouths. 

She could feel him inside her mind and his touches adjusted every time he found a spot that was particularly sensitive. 

“You are right,” he purred, “I have considered it. But I did not anticipate you being so _compliant._ ” 

She was helpless beneath this attention, squirming and releasing small desperate noises. Her back gave little involuntary arches and she tried futilely to press herself harder into his touches. With a drowish smirk he pressed his physical fingers against her, slipping them through her folds and coating them in dampness. Now slick, he drew them upward until they reached her clitoris. 

Her body curved up in an arch and she whimpered. She could neither form words nor speak under the dexterity of his fingers. It was entirely too much and not nearly enough. 

“Kimmuriel!” She pleaded, so reduced by him. 

Psionic energy buzzed through his fingers on her and her words came unbound into a yell. 

He purred above her, “Yes?” 

“Kimmuriel” She gasped, she could not find the words in drow and turned back to her native elvish in desperation, “Please. I want-” 

Following her into elvish he teased, “What do you want, Tega? Do words so fail you? Show me.” 

She condensed her pleas into a lust driven mental display of him removed of the rest of his clothing, his hair falling against her skin, his weight pressed on top of her. The slow burn of him inside of her. How he would sound moaning her name against her skin and the bursts of noise he would make when she sucked the tips of his ears between her lips. How he would shudder and lose his composure. 

“ _Vith_ ,” he swore and for a moment she was bereft of his touch as he briefly stood and slid his pants and underthings from his slender hips. Her eyes moved to the newly exposed length of him, hard and glistening at the tip. 

Later she would consider the ramification of allowing this to progress so far, but now he had driven her so close to the edge she had little energy for anything but consuming lust. 

He returned to the bed, pushing her legs apart and kneeling between them, he lowered his body, holding himself over her with one hand, the other pulling her into position by the hip. He recreated the imagery she had conveyed, allowing his long and soft hair to fall upon her chest.

He dragged his erection through her folds, against her sensitive flesh until its tip was poised at her entrance. 

It was all she could do not to wrap her legs about him and take him inside of her herself, but she waited for him to move. 

He did, but slowly, so infuriatingly slowly, he began to slide into her. He was gritting his teeth and his breath was in harsh, controlled bursts. It clearly took as much out of him to draw this out it did for her not to hurry him along. 

Her body felt empty and burning, desperate for him to be inside of her. 

More infuriating than relieving he had entered her only to the tip. He looked at her, fire in his eyes, whose red irises were being consumed by dilated pupils. And his psionics shared between them their combined lust, building such vivid anticipation that when she cried out for it, he joined her, needy groan slipping from his lips. He shifted, poised to impale himself entirely.

When sudden and rapid knocking came at the door. 

 

**XXXXX**

Tega was rather at a loss at what to do. Auguste had left her alone for the afternoon and, having hours to kill, she had begun to look over his mathematics work. She had progressed much since she had discovered her skill. It no longer sent her into a burning fury for knowledge, but now lived calmly as an irrevocable part of her. 

He had been belabouring this project for weeks, unable to find a way to balance his hypothesis. He had redone his work countless times, torn through his papers, ripped them up, shrieked and shouted. And she had solved it in an hour. 

He had made several quite grievous errors, when she fixed them, his hypothesis fell entirely into place. But ought she tell him? She remained the rest of the day, plagued by deliberation, until, near nightfall, he returned to his room. 

But the look upon his face drove all thoughts of mathematics from her mind. A frown cut deeply into his forehead and twisted his mouth in fury. 

She rose, “Auguste?” she said, then amended, “master?” 

He lashed out, swiping his hand so hard against an ink bottle that it flew across the room and smashed, exploding across the wall. He let out an enraged roar. 

“What is it, Master Auguste?” She asked, taking a step back from him. She would kill him if she had to, if he attacked her she would stab his eyes out. 

“My whore of a sister!” He seethed, “She has designs against my mother! Why must she be so gods _blasted_ selfish!” 

“You sister plans to kill your mother?” she asked, “Why?” Although, she thought she knew why. To take control of the house and the guild that they ran. 

Auguste gave her a condescending look and told her as much, “I cannot bear to be beholden to my sister. I ought to be running this guild! But she and that harlot she keeps at her side will take it from me.” He rounded on her, eyes blazing, “Tell me, does that vile brother of yours know how to fight?” 

She answered, trying to keep pride from leaking into her voice, “Yes. He is a prodigious fighter.” 

Auguste swore, “Could I beat him, do you think?” 

Her eyes widened and she looked at his scrawny frame and ink stained hands. 

“Well?” He pressed. 

“Oh...Oh I didn’t know you really wanted me to answer you. No, if you fought him he would have you on the floor in seconds. I did not even know you knew how to fight.”

“He is only a slave.” 

Anger burned under her skin, “Then, by all means, do as you think is best and fight him, master and we will see how it turns out.” 

He struck her across the cheek with the backside of his hand, knuckles slamming against her cheek, “You will not talk back to me!” 

She took a step back and raised her hand to her swelling cheek, “Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Tell me what I can do to help you.” 

He sneered at her and said viciously, “Kill your brother.” 

The bottom dropped out of Tega’s stomach, “Please, Auguste!” she said, “No, I cannot. Anything else. I will do anything else to help you. But I cannot wound Meika!” 

He gave her an appraising look, “What about my mother and sister then? Could you devise how to get rid of them?” 

“Yes,” she said with surety, “Yes, yes. I will help you become the leader of this guild. I would kill a hundred soldiers for you!” 

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her. She nearly sobbed but returned his kiss, clinging to him in hatred and despair. 

He tore himself off of her, “You will no longer be spending nights with him, it is too dangerous, I am sure he plots to take your life.” 

Horror at losing the only part of her life she did not despise rose like bile, “He would not, Auguste, my brother wouldn’t raise a hand to me. You do not need to worry.” 

He didn’t listen, “You will spend your nights here.” 

**XXXXX**

Kimmuriel dropped his forehead onto Tega’s chest and swore, “Lloth’s webs, _now_?” 

From through the door, Jarlaxle’s impatient tone rang out, “Tega! I know you are in there, I need to speak with you. Now, Tega.” 

Kimmuriel laid a finger on her lips to quiet her and thought, _‘Be silent, perhaps he will go.’_

More merry rapping sounded on the door, “I have a key for this room, you know, Tega!” 

They heard the jangling of keys and Kimmuriel leapt off of her, his clothing flying back over his body in an instant, his hair righting itself. They heard a key enter the lock and Tega shot up, giving Kimmuriel a look of desperation and outrage. 

He put up his hand and her clothes pulled themselves over her body, her hair straightened itself and the bed smoothed itself out. Kimmuriel returned to his seat, book in his hand and she rushed to the door, opening it as Jarlaxle did from the other side. 

“Really, Jarlaxle?” She asked, “You could not wait?” 

He clicked his tongue, “Well what were you doing? Oh -” he had spied Kimmuriel over her shoulder, “The two of you are locked up together?” 

She fought to return her breathing to normal and hoped that he had not left marks exposed on her throat, “Well yes, I am preparing him for the surface.” 

Jarlaxle arched an eyebrow, “He seems to be reading, I will hazard a guess that you can sacrifice a few moments of your time, excuse us, lieutenant.” 

Wordlessly, and with an icy expressionless face, Kimmuriel rose and departed through a blue portal. 

Jarlaxle stepped into the room and closed the door with a snap behind him, “Tega,” he began with a frown, “Can’t you get along with Artemis?” 

She gaped at him in disbelief and frustration, “That is why you barged into my chambers?” She asked. Her body still thrummed with need and she would be furious if Jarlaxle had interrupted her to talk about the hurt feelings of his human friend. 

Jarlaxle scowled, “He is an important asset, Tega, and I would like him returning to us when we are finished with this war against Mithril Hall. I thought, as my assistant and a denizen of the surface that you could facilitate making him more comfortable here.” He broke off and turned his head to the side, peering at her, “Tega, are you feeling alright?” 

“What?” She asked, “Why- why do you ask?” 

He shrugged, “Your face is quite flushed, surely you cannot be that angry with me?” And he gave her a wide eyed and pouting look. 

“Jarlaxle,” she said, “I will try to ease Artemis’ transition, but I will be upfront that I do not like the man.” 

“How could you not?” Jarlaxle said, “He is exotic and handsome and so good with his dagger I can hardly believe it!” 

“He smells terrible!” She said. 

Jarlaxle smirked and laughed, “I think you have become too close with our good lieutenant Kimmuriel!” 

She could not help the pinkness that rose up her cheeks, and she said, defensively, “He is Calimport incarnate, Jarlaxle. I do not like Calimport, it smells of death and I spent the worst years of my life there, enslaved to Auguste.” 

Jarlaxle shrugged, “Then get along with him as a favor to me. Oh, that reminds me, I have reports on your desk that I need you to look through, you were finished with Kimmuriel, yes?” 

No, she had not been finished with Kimmuriel, thank you very much. “You need them done now?” 

“Quite!” he said, “Come now, back to work!” 

She would have liked to visit a bathroom and tidy herself up before settling back to paperwork, but she followed Jarlaxle back to his office and returned dejectedly to her desk. Indeed, there was an enormous stack of paperwork in front of her. 

“What is all this?” She asked in disbelief. 

He winked, “You need to get ready to be gone at the at library, do you not?” 

“Oh, yes,” she drew down the first page, settling in to a long night of paperwork, “Where is Artemis then?” 

Jarlaxle looked up from his own desk, “Sulking and alone in his own suite.” 

“Perhaps were he more pleasant I would feel worse for his plight.” 

Jarlaxle scoffed, “You were perfectly ready to cloister yourself off with Kimmuriel who is, by my estimation, far worse tempered than Artemis.” 

“Perhaps, but he smells nicer.” 

Jarlaxle laughed and teased, “Do you make a habit of smelling him?” 

She quite vividly remembered the exaggerated scent that clung to his skin along his chest and neck and how it had felt to press her lips and nose to his skin. She shivered, “Of course I don’t.” 

“Tega?” 

She looked up at him, “Yes, Jarlaxle?” 

“I do apologize for sending you off to the surface alone with him. I know you and he do are not on excellent terms. But I thought it would be preferable to taking part in the surface raid.” 

She gave him a sincere smile, “Thank you, Jarlaxle. It is preferable. I want no part in the war with Mithril Hall.” 

“I will make sure that he behaves himself.” 

“Thank you.” 

She set to the paperwork, working quietly and steadily. Jarlaxle had a stream of visitors passing in and out of his office and, as she had grown accustomed to, she ignored them quite proficiently. 

Now that her body was cooling down her brain was running into overdrive. How could she have possibly nearly bedded Kimmuriel Oblodra? Certainly she had always had an understanding that he was attractive, but she had never considered taking him to bed. Not that it had not been an enjoyable endeavor. But idiotic. Wasn’t it?” 

She had not had a tryst such as that before. The two that she had taken apart from Auguste, who she resolutely did not count, had begun as emotional connections that grew into physical passion. 

Why had those died out? They had not lasted long, either of them, not long enough to even really note them. She would never have told them such, but boredom. Not that they had not been engaging and interesting people full of their own qualities and pursuits. They just had not been entirely suited to her. 

Certainly, there were borders that Kimmuriel crossed, and they had begun their acquaintanceship as something closer to antagonists than equals, but she did not fool herself into thinking that this was about finding an emotive companion. What did she have to lose? 

And he had called her brilliant, and gods was he not brilliant himself. 

_‘Thank you,’_ he said teasingly in her mind.

Her head shot up. Kimmuriel sat across from Jarlaxle, his back to her

“What do you mean you will be staying on the surface for the duration of your time at the library?” Jarlaxle said, “You _want_ to remain on the surface?” 

In clipped tones Kimmuriel replied, “Creating a portal to cross such a distance as that can be done but it is rather exacting. To do so every day may compromise my ability to complete my work at the library. I am sure the faerie will not complain.” 

In her head he commented, _‘Take it as a gesture of goodwill.’_

Not sure where it came up from, she thought back coquettishly, _‘And you will not begrudge either being away from Jarlaxle’s interruptions for a number of weeks, I think.’_

_‘I hope you did not expect… selflessness.’_ He had not had the appropriate word in drow and had to substitute elvish to make himself understood, it nearly made her laugh aloud.

_‘Of course I didn’t, I am not entirely foolish.’_

Out loud, to Jarlaxle, he said, “I will allow her to make the arrangements when we arrive, I am sure the other faeries will find her more agreeable to work with.” 

“Tega?” Jarlaxle said, “Would it so impose on you to stay in an inn on the surface rather than return here while you work in the library?” 

She didn’t look up from her work, “That sounds fine, although Kimmuriel will have to behave if he does not want to be thrown from the inn.” 

Kimmuriel rose and swept toward the door. Before he left he stopped and turned back, face as expressionless as ever, “When you have finished with her, Captain, there are details I need to discuss about our venture. Send her along to my chambers when she can be spared.” 

Jarlaxle waved him away dismissively, “Yes, fine, fine.” 

In her mind, as he took his leave he said into her mind, _‘And we have a pending matter I intend to resolve.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long to update, I was both stuck on this chapter and waylaid by ridiculous fanfiction of an incredibly not popular book. But I hope the contents of the chapter has made up for how long it took to come into existence!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Tega had intended the whole time she worked to make straight for Kimmuriel’s chambers when she was done. He had told her to come and she wanted to. She had wanted very much to finish what they had started. 

The moment she was finished with her work she raced from Jarlaxle’s office with hardly more than a farewell, which earned a tiny crease in Jarlaxle’s brow. She flitted down the halls, but the nearer she got to Kimmuriel’s chambers the slower her steps became. It was one thing to let a tryst continue when it happened organically as it had in her rooms. She wasn’t immune to the calls of the flesh and it had been so long. But it was quite another thing to go tramping into a drow mercenary’s bedroom expecting to have her way with him. 

She slowed to an awkward stop near his door. How exactly did one knock on someone’s door and ask them to continue where they’d left off? Jarlaxle would have known how to do it, but she didn’t and she didn’t think it was something she could really go about asking him for advice on. And now that she was having time to think she was conjuring the reactions of her father and Meika if they ever learned of her tryst. It hardly mattered that the chances of that were utterly remote. She fidgeted and twisted her fingers together. She could always go back to her own rooms and see Kimmuriel some other time. Surely they didn’t have to finish what they had started _now_? 

She took a half step back, reconsidered and raised her hand to knock. She didn’t. She lowered her hand again and bit at her lip. This was silly, he had told her to come, he clearly wanted her to come. But he could have changed his mind, couldn’t he? What if he thought she was being rude? She took another step back from the door. 

He was the one who had moved first in her bedroom, maybe she could just go back to her rooms and if he _really_ wanted to visit her, he could go there. Allowing herself to accept this excuse, she fled back to her own chambers. 

She bolted the door and scurried into her pajamas, leaving her clothes uncharacteristically rumpled on the floor. She made it halfway under her covers before she got back up and put her clothes away where they belonged. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. She was certain of that. She was half sure that at any moment Kimmuriel would step boldly through a portal and be upon her. It wasn’t exactly reassuring to be unable to lock herself safely in her room. 

It would have looked silly indeed for Kimmuriel to come striding in, his formal robes billowing around him, to find her snuggled in fluffy pajamas under her quilts. But now that she had calmed down she wasn’t really sure she _wanted_ Kimmuriel to interrupt her. She wished it would be Dritch so she could get a little sleep curled up with someone warm. 

A knock came upon the door. She shivered and rose from her bed. 

She expected Kimmuriel, for once giving her the courtesy of asking to be allowed inside, but it was Jarlaxle, looking part annoyed and part surprised. 

“Tega,” he smiled, “I wasn’t sure you would answer.” 

She smiled back, “It’s late, Jarlaxle.” 

“Yes, I know. But you nearly ran out of my office, I thought maybe something was wrong. Was Kimmuriel bothering you this afternoon?” 

“Do you want to come in?” 

He stepped inside and closed the door after him. He had changed out of the elaborate costume he wore for business. He always looked so different divested of the purple hat and shimmering cape. Smaller and more tangible. He sat without invitation, but Tega didn’t mind. Unlike Kimmuriel he didn’t sit as far away as possible in her lone chair by her little desk. He reclined on her bed. 

“So,” he ventured, “How are you?” 

She took a long time in responding, looking slowly over all the intricate strings and maps on her walls. Jarlaxle hadn’t looked at them. “I’m just fine, Jarlaxle.” 

He lifted his eyebrow and slid the eyepatch off. Her attention shifted onto him more fully. She had only seen him without that eyepatch once, when he’d been grievously wounded.

“Tega, you are lying, you’re lying _to me_.” He sounded hurt, Tega wasn’t sure if it was acting or not. 

“The Underdark is very lonely,” she said softly.

“Sit next to me.” 

She sat beside him, “I miss Dritch,” she said suddenly. 

“You were lovers then?” 

“No, I told you that we weren’t, but he would sleep here sometimes, I’ve always liked sleeping next to someone.” 

“Was there someone you slept next to on the surface? Is that what you miss?” He reached up slowly and brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. 

She was overwrought, she felt perpetually overwrought since she had come to the underdark. She leaned her head on his bare shoulder, “I’m tired, Jarlaxle,” she said, not answering his question. 

He didn’t pry it out of her, “I will miss you while you’re at the library with Kimmuriel.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, and he grinned. She knew that her returning the comment had been most of the reason he’d said it. 

She was nearly asleep on his shoulder when he spoke again, “You remind me of a friend of mine.” 

“A friend I know?” 

“No, a long dead friend.” 

“But they were like me?” 

Jarlaxle laughed abruptly, “No, not in the slightest. He was nothing like you, he probably would have hated you.” He laughed to himself over this then stood up, knocking her off of his shoulder, “I ought to let you sleep, you have a big day tomorrow.” 

She blinked, “What big day? We aren’t going to the library for weeks.” 

He flashed a gleaming smile, “You’ll be teaching Artemis Entreri how to speak drow.” 

She leapt to her feet, “Jarlaxle! I’m not-” 

“You are,” he interrupted her, “Exactly what I tell you you are. You work for me, I am your boss and your Captain, is that understood?” 

She straightened up, trying despite her pajamas to look dignified, “Sir, I think there are better uses of my time than teaching a human how to speak drow. Half the daily operations wait on my reports.” 

He tapped her nose in that manner only he could ever really capture that was both affectionate and threatening, “Yes, they do, I have no intention of you not completing all your usual work. You’ll be teaching Entreri in your free time, when you would normally be doing this.” He gestured vaguely at the web of reserach pinned to her walls. 

“But-” she felt herself deflating.

“The next thing you’re going to say to me will be ‘Yes, Captain.’”

She clasped her hands in front of her and dropped her gaze, “Yes, Captain.” 

**XXXXX**

Held this tightly to Auguste’s side it was impossible not to be overcome by his smell. Human body odor, already more pungent than that of elves, mingled with the sour smell of wine and his gaudy perfume. His arm was wound around her waist, pulling her against him so snugly there was nowhere but his chest to rest her head. She wasn’t tired. Elves slept less than humans and her mind was whirring. 

Auguste planned to kill Alexandrie and Tega could not conceive of a method that didn’t also end in the death of Meika. 

She needed to find Meika. She needed to get to him and tell him what was going to happen. She pressed herself up, gently trying to remove herself from under Auguste’s arm. He groaned in his sleep and turned his head. She waited, so quiet she was nearly not breathing. She moved what felt like less than a centimeter and his arm tightened, pulling her back against him, his fingers combing through her hair. 

Tears of frustration were burning in her throat. Meika was going to die. She was here and Meika was going to die. She moved again, faster this time. Her terror was making her less cautious. If she tore out of arms in a rush maybe he wouldn’t wake. 

“Tega?” His voice was slurred by sleep. 

“Go back to sleep, Auguste,” she said, brushing back his hair and twisting her face to look fond of him. 

“Did I wake you?” He asked. He reached up and touched her face, his bumbling human fingers coarse against her cheekbone and along her ear. 

“No, of course you didn’t. Elves don’t sleep as much as men.” 

“Then you aren’t tired?” 

“No, Auguste.” It was the wrong thing to say. 

He pressed his lips to hers, “Then maybe there is some other way we can occupy your time.” 

She was rescued by a scratching against the lock. He jolted upright and stared, wide eyed, at the door. 

“Get behind me, Tega, it’s an intruder.” 

The door creaked open, Auguste snatching a letter opener from his desk as a weapon, and Meika slipped inside. 

Auguste gasped, “You have come to-” 

Meika didn’t give him a chance to speak, he fell to the ground on his knees and pressed bloody hands to the carpet, “I’ve come to offer my allegiance, Master Auguste.” 

Tega wanted to go to him and wipe the blood from his hands, to tell him he was alright, to check him for wounds. But she stayed where she was, behind Auguste’s outstretched arm. She hadn’t had a chance to see if the blood was his or not. Her heart burst that he would never rise from where he had fallen.

Meika finally dared to look up at Auguste who still had not spoken. His eyes rested only for a moment on Tega, still in nightclothes upon Auguste’s bed. It was credit to his control that he didn’t scowl. 

“Your allegiance?” Auguste had finally remembered to speak. 

“Madam Alexandrie was plotting your death, Master. But she could never lead this house,” he looked up and met Auguste’s eye, “Only you can lead this house.” 

Auguste drew himself up, neither naturally tall or muscular and clad in silk pajamas he was lucky that Meika was on the ground so he could almost appear to have authority. “You’re right about that. She would never have been able to rule. Have you killed her?” 

Meika bowed his head again, “Yes. For you, Auguste. My sister speaks so highly of you, she tells me how brilliant and cunning you are. Alexandrie was none of these things. She was weak and impetuous. You will lead us to greatness. Only you.” 

“Get up.” 

Meika rose and towered over Auguste, a head taller and twice as muscled. His brown skin, not nearly the copper of their father, glimmered like bronze in the moonlight, Auguste shone pale and sickly. 

Auguste pressed his lips together, “You will go back to your slave chambers. In the morning you will be brought before my mother, they will suspect you, but I will defend you. Swear your loyalty to me!” 

“I swear it.” 

“Go! Get out of here.” 

Tega touched Auguste’s shoulder softly, “Please, please, Auguste, can I go with him?” 

“Why? It could be dangerous.” 

“He will need help destroying his bloody things. Please, I am trying to help you.” 

He kissed her and she could nearly hear Meika stiffen at the door, “Be safe, my little Tega.” 

Meika was careful not to touch her back in their quarters until the blood had been cleaned from his hands, then he pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. 

“Oh, Te, my little sister, my smallest Tega. You are safe. You are safe. She was going to kill you.” 

She clung to him, “Are you alright?” 

His breath shook and he clung to her, “No. No. How can I be? Of course I am- I’m sorry. I loved her.” 

She knew. She understood. How he had loved Alexandrie who had sparred with him and taken him to bed and treated him as something almost like an ally. She understood that he had hated her too.

“I know, it’s easier if you let yourself care about them.” 

She felt him nod, “She cried.” 

Tega clung to him, “I’m sorry, Meika. You should not have had to.” 

He pulled back and kissed her hair, “There is so much we should not have had to do.” 

**XXXXX**

“Entreri, if you do not want to learn drow-”

“I do not.” 

“-Then at least sit quietly, you’re getting metal shavings on my carpet.” 

He scowled at Tega and continued to sharpen his jeweled dagger, not letting his eyes drop from boring into her. 

She shivered. As much as she would like to be, she was not impervious to his intimidation. She could feel that he hadn’t look away yet, and she assumed he was not planning on looking away any time soon. 

‘You ignored my summons last night.’ Kimmuriel’s voice melted through her mind and she jumped badly. _‘You are still ignoring me.’_

_‘You may have noticed I am quite busy with Entreri.’_

_‘Is he threatening you, Tega?’_

She could have laughed. She wasn’t sure if it was how long she had been spending with the drow or a subtle nudge he had provided but she understood his intent immediately, _‘And if he gets too threatening will you kill him and justify it to Jarlaxle as defending me?’_

_‘If you were a drow, you might taunt him into attacking so I could have my blood.’_

_‘I am not a drow.’_

She glanced back and Artemis and saw that he had finished sharpening his sword and slid it back into its sheath. 

He continued to glare without speaking. He clearly disliked being stuck in the underdark and was not above filtering his discomfort onto her. 

“It would be easier for you to just learn a few words,” she cajoled gently.

“They could learn my tongue.” 

“They aren’t in your country, and they’re drow, I’m sure they wouldn’t condescend to learn a human language.” 

He sneered and really looked remarkably like Kimmuriel when he did. She felt a twinge in her mind akin to a pinch when she thought this. 

_‘You wouldn’t hear things like that if you wouldn’t casually eavesdrop on my thoughts.’_

_‘I also would not hear things like that if you did not think them.’_

“Where did you learn Calishan?” Entreri asked gruffly, redrawing her attention. 

“Calimport.” 

“Yes, I know,” he replied dryly, “What were you doing in Calimport?” 

She fumbled over her words, “I was a ca- I was- I worked for the Pernoit Guild.” 

He stared at her, “Recently?” 

“Yes, about forty years ago.” 

He snorted, “Not recently. You know Auguste Pernoit then?” 

She paused for only a moment, “Yes.” 

She got the notion that he understood. That he knew the things she had nearly said and what she had meant by them. Equally as strongly she got the notion that his understanding did nothing to make him like her any better. She likewise still did not like him. 

“Why are you helping Jarlaxle? Surely the pay can’t be good enough for how miserable you are.” 

He sat perfectly still like a glowering statue, “I’ve been promised a fight with Do’Urden.” 

“Dinin?” She was utterly confused. What quarrel could he possibly have with Dinin Do’Urden?

“Drizzt.” 

“Oh! The runaway. Why do you want to fight him?” 

“It is none of your concern.” He sneered and fiddled with his dagger. 

She had the idea that it was a matter of martial skill and masculine pride that she was never going to properly be able to understand. 

Breaking any further tedium, Jarlaxle came in with a chipper little knock, “Ah! Artemis, I thought you would be here.” He chimed, as though Artemis was not there only because Jarlaxle had issued a very specific edict, “I don’t suppose I could steal you for just a tiny second?” 

Artemis was on his feet and out of the room in moments without so much as a farewell. 

Jarlaxle smiled briefly at Tega, then he too disappeared. 

She expected Kimmuriel to appear right away, why had he been teasing her if he hadn’t been waiting for Artemis to leave? But he did not. She could still feel him creeping around the edges of her brain in a way that did not make her comfortable, but he didn’t dig for any thoughts or make a portal and come in person. 

And he did not come, not then, nor any other time she had a few moments alone. He made pesky little comments and intruded on her thoughts, but he didn’t seek her out and he made no move to finished the tryst they had begun. 

The evening before her departure to the surface she sat at her desk in Jarlaxle’s office, finishing her overload of work in preparation for being gone. She had been working endlessly for weeks making sure everything would go off without a hitch in her absence. She was sleepy and her hand was quite cramped. 

“Tega?” 

“Yes?” She replied, looking up at Jarlaxle, “You have hardly spoken to me at all,” she stared at him for a moment then softened the accusations, “you’ve been so busy.” 

He gave her a thin lipped smile, “I know Artemis’ education has been going poorly, but thank you for trying to see to him, I know you did it as a favor to me.” 

She smiled, “Yes, well it hasn’t been very effective. Neither of us really like the other and he refuses to learn anything,even the very useful things.” 

“Yes, I know he has, but thank you for attempting it.” 

She was warming to him, despite how cold he had been lately, “You’re welcome, sir.” 

He crooked his finger at her and she rose and began to cross the room to him. His smile widened and warmed as she came close. “It has been so long since we’ve talked, Tega.” 

She sat where she knew he wanted her to, perched on the edge of his desk. 

He fiddled with the hem of her skirt, his fingertips grazing her knee, “You have worked so hard the last few weeks. You have barely had time to rest and eat.” 

“It would have been less busy if you hadn’t made my try so hard to teach your pet human.” 

He shrugged and winked. She would never tell him, but he looked ridiculous when he winked while he was wearing his eyepatch, it just looked like a funny squinting blink. “And yet you were so dutiful about the lessons.” 

She scoffed gently, “I am always dutiful.” 

He lifted his eyepatch and his fingers stilled, resting on her knee, “Whatever will the Bregan D’aerthe do without you while you are above?” 

She loved him when he was like this, she laughed softly and her nose wrinkled a little, “I should hope that while I’m gone the Bregan D’aerthe will fill its coffers with mithril.” 

His smile turned arrogant, “I can assure you that we will. The paperwork for our spoils will take you weeks to catalog.”

“Don’t get cocky, Jarlaxle, you haven’t won the war yet.” 

He stroked her knee with his thumb, “I am not cocky, I am self assured.” 

“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” 

He leaned forward, “Are you worried about me?” 

“I am always worried about you, Jarlaxle, especially when you are going into something this dangerous.” 

He lifted her fingers and pressed his lips against them, “I have something-”

They both jumped when a knock landed hard on his door. He slid his eyepatch back on and she got up from his desk. She was halfway back to her own when Kimmuriel swept in. 

She stepped out of his way but he stopped before her. 

“Tega.” She had nearly forgotten what his voice sounded like when he spoke aloud. He was close enough that she could smell him, it made her blush. 

“Kimmuriel.” 

He pitched his voice low and soft, “Are you prepared for tomorrow?” 

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” 

“You will bring that project? I believe your work could be significantly accelerated by working there.” 

“Of course, I am going to be doing something other than watching you work.” 

“Will you now?” What was very nearly a smile pulled momentarily at his lips before he turned stiffly to Jarlaxle, who had watched the exchange. 

“Do you have those reports, Kimmuriel?” He asked in a crisp voice. 

Kimmuriel wordlessly held out the papers and Jarlaxle took them. They looked at one another for a moment before Kimmuriel turned with a whirl of his robes and left, holding eye contact with Tega for just a moment. 

She was very uncomfortable with what had just happened and with the cool atmosphere he had left behind him. 

Heavy silence sat in the office for many moments, “You were saying something, Jarlaxle?” 

“Hm? Oh- yes. I was saying I have something-” he frowned a tiny frown, “I have something I must deliver to Vierna, do fetch her.” 

Tega jumped and fidgeted, before quickly saying, “Yes, sir.” 

She fled. She raced up the corridor toward Vierna’s quarters. She was terrified to fetch her but equally terrified to ignore Jarlaxle’s command. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a frightened bird battering its cage. 

She didn’t hesitate to knock on Vierna’s door, as much as she wanted to just go back to her chambers and not face the priestess who had assaulted her. 

It was as though Vierna had been waiting for her. The second her knuckles touched the door it was wrenched open and she stood, tall and imposing, in the jamb. She wore only semi-translucent silks. For an outfit that was so close to the slave garments Tega had been forced into in her youth, these made Vierna seem oddly powerful. 

She said nothing, just tilted her head and stared at Tega, waiting, her snake whip thrashing at her hip. 

A male was standing in her room, clothed and unharmed, his expression bemused. 

“Jarlaxle wanted- wanted me to fetch you. He has something for you.” She dropped her gaze, unable to match Vierna’s. 

She did not wait for Tega to lead the way, “Stay here, Dinin, we will finish this when I return.” She marched passed Tega, straight down the hallway, leaving Tega to race after her, frightened to get too close. 

“What is it that you want, Jarlaxle?” She demanded the second she was through the office door. 

“Ah! Vierna, you are looking lovely. I want nothing, I have a gift.” 

Her lip curled, “A gift? Why?” 

“A mark of good faith.” 

It was plain she didn’t trust him, but she held out her hand regardless. 

He flashed a smile, glancing at Tega who hovered by the door and produced his gift from a drawer in his desk.

Tega thought that her heart had stopped. Her entire body clenched and breath would not be drawn into her lungs. She could not tear her eyes away from what was held in Jarlaxle’s slim fingers. As intricately made as she remembered, glimmering goldenly in the lamp light from her rooms, was the wound golden leaves of her father’s bracelet. 

“I thought it was quite pretty,” Jarlaxle said, tossing it in the air and catching it, “the beauty reminded me of you,” he gave VIerna a wink and took her fingers in his own, “May I?” He asked. But he did not wait for her response, just clasped it over her wrist. 

The blood rushed into Tega’s head and she felt faint. She could not speak. Her brain couldn’t catch up. Her father’s bracelet. The chieftain's bracelet of her people. Her brother’s bracelet that he had never gotten to wear. It was whole and undamaged. It was on Vierna’s wrist. 

“It looks lovely, Vierna,” he said. That nearly predatory gleam was in his eyes again but Tega was barely capable of registering it. 

She was overwhelmed. Her father had worn that bracelet. His father Khovinar before him. Khovinar’s mother Khala before that. When her father had climbed into the trees with her and held her when she could not see the stars, that bracelet had pressed into her back. When he had knelt behind her and wrapped his arms around her to show her how to hold a spear it had been warm on her wrist. It had gleamed in the firelight when he had been cut down by the drow. 

The design was the same as Meika’s tattoo that marked him as the future leader. She had spent so many nights staring at his tattoo while he slept, his arms protectively around her. It had danced at the side of her vision when he brushed out and rebraided her hair. It had become Meika. It was her legacy, her history, and her family. And it sat upon a drow priestess’ wrist.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tega lay on her bed staring upward. The lamp was out. Her weak, elvish infravision bathed the room in pinks and yellows. She traced the carved patterns with her eyes. They were cut in an intricate pattern on the ceiling. Expensive. Expertly rendered. The drow were capable of beautiful things. 

She did not reply to the knock on her door. She barely heard it. The bracelet, that bracelet, wrapped around Vierna’s wrist was a thorn into her stomach. Bile sat hot in her throat. She bathed in her own anger. Anger with Jarlaxle, anger with Meika, anger with her father . Anger with the drow captors and the human slavers. Anger. It was comfortable laying here in her anger.

The knock came again, 

There had been so much of her life she had seethed in anger. It was the twin of the soft tempered girl who had once lived in the forest. She might have grown up as soft as she wanted to be. She wasn’t supposed to know what if felt like to have anger chew like an acid through her heart. She should not have seen the things she had. She should not have heard them or tasted them. 

It was not just a bracelet. It was her birthright. It was the crown of her people. It belonged to Meika. 

She had wanted it to have power of its own. She had wanted it to burn Vierna’s skin for daring to wear it. She had wanted it to peal back the skin of Jarlaxle’s fingers for giving it away. But if it could do that it would have been able to resist being taken in the first place. 

Kimmuriel entered without having been given permission. 

“We are leaving for the library.” 

She didn’t move, “Are you deigning to speak with me aloud?” 

He stared at her for many minutes. They stretched out and she did not look at him. He might have been sifting through her throughs, he might not have been. But all she thought of was her anger at Jarlaxle. She felt he had betrayed her. He should have known that the bracelet was hers. He should have sensed it. It should have called out to her. How had he not known? He knew everything. 

“He doesn’t know everything.” 

That answered the question of whether or not he was reading her thoughts. She looked over and scooted to leave space on her bed without a word. 

He stayed where he was, one hand on the open door and looked at her. Then finally, after much more silence, he closed the door and slipped off his stiff collared robe, hanging it over a chair. He paused and looked back at her as if for confirmation. His frown suggested intellectual curiosity over lust.

He saw her stocking clad feet and slid off his high boots as well. He laid down beside her on top of the quilts, looking up at the ceiling. Neither of them touched. 

“He gave-” she started.

“I know.” 

She turned her head toward him, “I’m sorry, I forgot, your family was killed too.” 

He turned his head also so they were nose to nose. He inhaled in the sharp way he did before he spoke but decided against it and said nothing. Instead Tega saw his memories unfurling in her own mind. It was not like a storybook. Nonlinear and organic. A mother’s wrath and tyrannical sisters. 

“You’re better off now.” 

He said nothing for a very long time, “Are you not?” 

“My family is dead. Tortured and scattered and murdered.” 

“But you are better off. Do not forget, I have seen your memories. I have felt your incompetent grip upon a spear.” 

“Don’t act like you would be any better than me with a spear, you little stick of a drow.” 

He laughed a slow soft laugh that almost had real humor in it, “I was under the idea that you _liked_ my physique. That is the impression that you gave.”

She smiled at him, “You’re flirting.” 

Instead of answering he said, “You are very like a drow.” 

She understood that from him this was a high compliment, “I don’t know how. I think you’re mostly childish idiots.”

“Tell me how.” 

“Can’t you take it from my mind?” 

“Yes. Tell me.” 

“You and I working together is not a weakness. You still think it is.” 

There was nothing like a smile on his face, it was still as utterly cold as ever, but he lifted a hand a ran a slender finger across her cheekbones, “Is that what we are doing? Working together?” 

She edged closer to him and smiled for them both, “No, but it still isn’t weakness. There’s no reason not to.”

“Explain it to me.” 

“I would think someone like you could work it out for yourself.” 

“I can, but I would rather you explain it.” 

“If I killed you-

 

His face darkened but she forged on.

“If I killed you it would only, at best, mean that Jarlaxle would replace his lieutenant. He would not pick me, Kimmuriel. I have no interest in the job and I would be terrible at it.” 

“Yes, you would.” 

“Neither of us gains from hurting the other. But you’re good for the Bregan D’aerthe and so am I. We both benefit from each other’s safety and happiness.” 

“You are attempting to defend that it is profitable for me to finish what I began while the last time we were alone here.” 

She said it clearly in her head, _‘Do you want to?’_ Because she knew he prefered it to speaking, that he felt he communicated better that way.

_‘I do. But We hardly have time now. We have a library to go to. They are expecting us.’_

_‘Kimmuriel?’_

_‘Tega.’_

_‘I am angry with Jarlaxle.’_

_‘Will you do anything about it?’_

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you telling me about it?” Their faces were still turned toward each other, they could feel each other’s breath. 

“You want to know.” 

For almost a second the tiniest frown passed over his fine eyebrows before he schooled his face back to its customary chilliness, “How would you possibly know what I want?” 

She smiled. He didn’t smile back, but his eyes flickered down to her upturned lips. 

She spoke softly, “How many times have you sat in your rooms looking through my thoughts, Kimmuriel? You called me brilliant.” 

“I called your _work_ brilliant.” 

“And there was that business the last time we were alone together.” 

“My desire for your flesh does not equate a desire for intimate knowledge of your thoughts at feelings.” 

“Of course it doesn’t, I was basing that on the months you’ve been pestering me for my intimate thoughts and feelings.” 

It was very brief, a glimpse, the opening and closing of a door. A feeling was communicated to her, a feeling she was utterly familiar with. Stagnant loneliness underpinned with fear, the ferocious desire for something more burning a slow and endless burn.

She kissed him.

**XXXXX**

The blood on Meika’s hands was dried by the time he returned to their old quarters. It was spattered over his face, in his shining hair, staining his silk tunic. 

Tega didn’t speak, she nudged his shoulder and he knelt by the basin on cool water. He lifted his arms and let her remove the ruined tunic. He let her wipe his skin with a doused cloth that turned red with the work. He closed his eyes and let her bathe his face. He let her maneuver him until his head lay in her lap and she could clean his hair. 

“It was not brave.” 

Tega stroked his hair, “I know.” 

“She wasn’t a warrior. Not like Alexandrie. She was an old woman.” 

Tega kept stroking his hair, “Think about Trilifeil, Meika, think about your wife.” 

A low moan came from his lips, “My dead wife, who died alongside our baby brothers.”

“Think about Trilifeil, and remember our home. You and I will return there, Meika. We will find our people, the ones who are alive and scattered, and we will return. I will put the bracelet around your wrist. You will fashion a spear. You will make beautiful children with Trilifeil.” 

“Maybe,” he said. His voice was beautiful in their language. The longer it was only the two of them, the longer it did not feel like her family’s language. Like an elven language. It felt like it belonged to the two of them. “But, Tega, perhaps we will not. They could be dead. Or we could be unable to track them down. We could find a city softer than this one and stay put there. We could get a house and find work to sustain us. You could find someone who understood you.” 

She started her old habit of braiding the long, slender braids into his dark hair, “Who understood me, Meika?” 

He almost smiled, “You would like it, wouldn’t you? You could have a little library of your own. I know you adore his books. That magic you do with numbers, you could get so good at it. I am sure it would be worth money. I could find something useful. Tega, if there is no one left we don’t have to go home. We could find mother.” 

“Why? She left us.” 

He opened his eyes and peered up, “I told her to go, Te, She was like you. Soft and gentle, she couldn’t survive with father, in the forest. I should have waited, should have made her take you. Then you would be safe.” 

“Shh,” Tega crooned, “Shh, I know you think about that too often. None of this is your fault. Don’t you remember what you told me. It’s only them who have any shame.” 

He laughed softly, “You are always smarter than me.” He sat up and kissed her forehead, “Come here and let me braid your hair.” He set to work with her nestled in front of him now, “Don’t go forgetting I am your elder brother just because you are more clever than I am.” He wound the braid deftly in his capable fingers, “I will still always look after you.” 

**XXXXX**

Tega drew back with wide eyes and looked at Kimmuriel, “I’m sorry.” 

He frowned in concentration, staring at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

She felt him touch against her mind gently. It was the feeling, like before, of softly turning delicate pages. She was getting much better at turning him aside, but this time she did not. 

“That word does not mean what you think it does,” he said, “Not when you’re speaking in drow. You have lost the intricacies in learning from a book.” He translated her ‘I’m sorry’ into elvish as ‘I’m sorry I didn’t kill you this time.’ 

“Oh!” She said, her cheeks coloring, “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Yes, I know it is not. Our language is complex and multifaceted, it is impossible to truly grasp its intricacies without many years of study.” 

“Are you stalling, Kimmuriel?” 

“No. I was educating you. I thought you would be interested.” 

“I am.” 

That flickering moment of a smile returned, nearly too brief to be seen, “Regardless, you have no need to be sorry. But I would ask you to explain yourself.” 

“Explain myself?” 

The frown returned, “I am familiar with the motivations of our previous encounter. I am not familiar with your motivations now.” 

It was impossible not to remember with him frowning at her like he was that regardless of his high position in a mercenary organization, he was first and foremost a scholar. But unfortunately, she didn’t have the words she wanted to explain it. She certainly was not fluent enough in drow for it and he was not fluent enough in elvish. So instead, she kissed him again. 

He didn’t jump or draw back, but softly kissed her back, tilting his head slightly to the side. 

As though approaching a skittish cat, she gingerly raised her hand to his hair and ran her fingers through it, tracing them along his cheekbone and down his throat. He reciprocated with a noise low in his throat. She continued, curiously running her fingers along his dark skin. It was soft and smooth and he rose to her touch, nearly purring. 

He pulled back a fraction of an inch and licked his lips, “We ought to go to the library.” 

She smiled and started to get up but he pulled her back down and kissed her again. He appeared dazed when he drew back again. 

They both stared at each other. 

“Kimmuriel-” 

He got up, moved have by physical motion and half by psionics. His robe flew around him and his boots relaced themselves up his legs. “Get up, we must go, the library awaits us.” 

She got up and slipped on her little shoes and picking up her bag, “Alright, Kimmuriel.” 

He frowned in concentration and a blue portal opened for them to go through. 

**XXXXX**

She rose and combed out her long hair. She knew the way to Auguste’s new chambers. He would be there already.

He was exactly where she knew he would be. Sitting on his mother’s chair at the head of the great family table. He smiled at her when she came in. “My Tega.” 

She curtsied and called him what he wanted to be called, “Pasha.” 

His smile widened, “Come, sit.” 

She sat on the arm of his chair and leaned against him. “Meika did it for you.” 

He ran his fingers through her hair, “Meika did it for _you_.” 

It wasn’t worth lying, “Yes. Auguste, please.” 

“Please what?” 

“He killed your sister, he killed your mother. He put you on your throne.”

He turned his head and brushed his nose against her cheek, “What do you want?” 

“We are slaves, Auguste.” 

He pulled back and looked hurt, “You want to leave?” 

She knew it was not the right thing to say. But she longed to say yes. What she wouldn’t give to beg him to let her her go and Meika be damned. It was a sudden breath of a future where she did not share his bed or feel his hands on her skin. Of never smelling his scent on her. And Meika would not even begrudge her. He would be happy to see her free. He would kiss her farewell. It was that that steadied her. She wouldn’t leave Meika. 

“No. I don’t want to leave,” She said, brushing back Auguste’s hair, “Why would I want to leave you?” 

He relaxed and smiled, “But you do want your freedom.” 

“Yes, I do. Auguste, please, let me be with you of my own volition,” she paused, “And let Meika go.” 

“Meika is too valuable. I cannot just let him leave. Do you know how much my mother spent on the two of you?” 

She looked away. He had said it like it was a compliment. 

He ran his fingers through her hair again, “You know I meant that in your favor. You know what I think of you now. You’ve shown you are far more than any other slave I’ve had before you. You ought to be proud of your worth.” 

_‘Oh my father,_ ’ she thought, _‘Your only daughter, reduced to this. I did not know I had any pride until it was taken away from me.’_ She spoke softly, but not without bite, “Then you have decided not to sell me to a house of ill repute?” 

He tugged chastisingly on a lock of her hair, “You ought to know that I have. We are very nearly companions. You, my Tega, are intelligent for an elf, for a slave especially. In fact, I have a gift for you.” 

“A gift?” 

He kissed her temple and produced a little box. She took it and opened it, expecting as she always did now, that this surprise and every surprise would be some new form of terrible. 

Thin, round spectacles stared back at her.

Tentatively she took them out of their velvet cushion and stared at them, fiddling with their hinges between her slender fingers. She glanced at Auguste who gave her an encouraging nod. With fussy hesitation, she slid them onto her face. 

The world before her slid into focus. Edges she had always assumed were blurred sharpened into crisp line. She had not known it was possible to see so far. Around her crackled in new and overwhelming vibrancy. Even colors seemed supersaturated. 

“Auguste,” she murmured, unable to tear her eyes off the glittering ornamentation on the walls. 

“They’re enchanted, just for you,” he whispered, brushing her hair back and kissing the very tip of her ear.

A rush of affection for him swelled under her skin and she turned and kissed him. The affection was short lived and brought with it hot shame for having felt it at all. 

He continued to kiss her, pressing tiny affections on her. She could feel him smiling against her lips, “You look darling in them, my Tega. But you would look darling in anything. And imagine how much more pleasant it will be for you to read with them.” 

Against her will the affection was beginning to quell the shame, so sweet was the fondness in his voice. 

He tapped her nose and rubbed the tip of his own against hers, “You are right, of course.”

“About what, master?” 

He hesitated, “Auguste, calle me Auguste, especially at times like now when we are alone. Won’t you do that?” 

She touched his face, “of course I will, Auguste.” As though she had a choice. 

“You are right, as I was saying. You’re right. Meika has done his part. If you want him to be set free then I will free him.” 

**XXXXX**

It was a monumental thing, the library. Towering many stories up and cutting many more deep into the earth. Inside it held books so rare that they could not be allowed to touch the light of day. To combat this the architects had shaved marble until it was so sheer light could come through in an opaque glow. 

Kimmuriel scowled even into this dim light. Tega walked at his side toward the colossal desk that spanned a ten foot curve at the library’s entrance. 

Behind the massive wooden desk sat a gaunt female elf. Her dark hair was cut very short and slicked back across her head. A single strand was pasted into points down the sides of her cheeks under her sharp cheekbones. When she saw Kimmuriel, her thin lips curled with malevolence.

In tightly clipped elvish she said, “You must be Kimmuriel Oblodra, the drow who has been seeking entrance here for the last decade.” Her loathsome gaze fell over Tega next, picking her apart, “And you are his escort?” 

Tega nodded.

Waspishly she asked, “Your name?” And drew from the desk a thin metal quill pen that she held hovering over a thick ledger. 

“Te-Tega,” She said haltingly, “Tega Khoviel.” 

She wrote this down next to Kimmuriel’s name. “You will be entirely responsible for him, Tega Khoviel. The punishment for any wrongdoing he brings about will fall not only upon his head but equally upon yours. Do you understand this?” 

“Yes,” she said with more confidence. 

“And you agree to it? Being in full awareness that punishment may extend to execution.” 

“Yes.” 

She looked up from her book and pierced Tega again with her intense gray eyes. “And,” she continued, looking straight back into Tega’s eyes, searching, “you agree to this entirely of your own will? Without promise of monetary reward nor a return of favors? Under no threat or coercion? You volunteer entirely upon your esteem of your charge?”

Tega paused for only a moment, “-yes.” 

Sounded more sad than cold she said, “Very well, Tega Khoviel, you are so bound. Enjoy your use of the Library.” 

With not a little discomfort she slunk away from the desk and toward the towering shelves of books. 

 

They separated briefly to hunt down the books that they needed and, so ladened, reunited at a long heavy table. She had been anxious about concentrating on her work while Kimmuriel sat just across from her but those fears were soon excised. 

**XXXXX**

Tega awoke to the door of Auguste’s new chambers opening softly. Auguste himself stood there, staring at her, His shoulders were stiff and his jaw was jutted forward. When he looked at her a soft sob broke out of his throat and a shiver passed over him, “Oh my Tega.” 

She sat up, confused and sleep addled, “It’s late, Auguste, the middle of the night, what is that matter?” 

He came over to her and lay down beside her without taking off his clothes or his shoes. He put his arms around her and kissed her temple. I am so sorry, my darling Tega.” 

Her voice tightened and when she finally spoke it was in a high pitched squeak, “What did you do, Auguste? Please, no, please don’t sell me. I will be better. I will never disappoint you again. I will be the perfect servant!” 

“Shh, shh, it is nothing like that. Oh my darling, it is nothing like that. Don’t you know by now that I love you? That I had every intention of marrying you properly?” This, of course, would have taken her family’s consent. And since the only one at her disposal was Meiksa, she doubted he might ever marry her properly. 

“What have you done, Auguste?” She could tell from his lack or reprimand to her indelicate question that it was something terrible, “Please, not the house of ill repute. Please, let me die first. I want to stay here.” 

“I am going to free you, Tega.” 

She gasped, “You are freeing me? I will be under my own power?” This still changed hardly anything. She had no money and no means of caring for herself. It would be a change in title from slave to indentured servant. The only true alteration would be that failure to satisfy would not mean being sold to a ladies’ house, but to be thrown onto the streets and to find one for herself. It would be improvement, but not realy. 

“I am not sending you to any house. I have arranged it with your brother. He is giving me loyalty in exchange for your freedom and deliverance to safety. I do wish I did not have to send you away, but he is indispensable to my guild.” 

She trembled, “You promised you would let him go.” 

“And so I shall. I cannot having a slave working with me that closely. Tega, Tega you must understand. If I had only myself to consider I would choose you over him in an instant, without a thought.” 

‘Without a thought,’ he said. But the gods only knew how much thought she and Meika had given this. This vie for forceful separation. The tether neither wanted to snap. She knew how long it had taken her to choose the path. She knew too how much Meika must have brooded over it. She wanted with all of her heart, and she knew Meika did as well, to stay together. He was her only source of comfort, of strength. But she would choose his well being before her own. And it seemed he would do the same for her and he was the one who had won Auguste’s allegiance. She knew how he had phrased it. 

_‘Auguste,’ He would not have been formal if he thought he could avoid it. His pride still bruised long before Tega’s, ‘You are being foolish.’_

_‘Why do you say that?’ Auguste, Pasha Auguste more than ever, was not tolerant of those who greatly disagreed with him and dismissed those who though they were smarter than he was._

_“I only mean, your grace,’ he would have realized that formality and respect were demanded, ‘You are letting your heart get in the way of your leadership.’_

_‘You are speaking out of turn!’ When he shouted like that his voice squeaked. With every passing word he would be less dignified than Meika._

_‘I am making you an offer.’_

Tega closed her eyes, “Yes, yes of course. Of course you would choose me. Where am I to go?” 

“There is a village outside the desert, Meika has insisted that you be taken there. I will make sure you are provisioned.” 

It was looming. It was here. The end of her torment. The glittering stars relieving the dark. But all she felt was dread. Meika was staying in the tiger’s teeth. Her brother was not coming with her. 

“Let me see him, please, Auguste.” 

She rose before she was given leave to and Auguste took her arm, his bony fingers biting into her skin, “Do you love him more than you love me?”

She stared at Auguste, struck dumb. Did she love her brother more than she loved her slaver? What sort of question was that? The old lusts crept back into her stomach. To scratch off Auguste’s face, to hear him scream, to punish him for his indecency. 

“Do you, Tega? Why else would he sacrifice himself for you? Why else would you be so obviously tormented that you are to leave him! You have always been close!” His voice was screeching again and his fingernails were leaving little crescent wounds on her arm. 

“He is my brother, Auguste!” 

“You brother! Yes! So you say! I am aware of how mother purchased you. In a whore’s silks, pressed against his side!” 

She remembered the translucent silks they had put her in and the way Meika had cradled her, protecting her from the gaze of a hundred hungry Calishites. 

“Auguste, don’t do this! He is my brother, I love him as a brother.” 

“But do you love me?” 

She acquiesced, “Of course I do, how could I not?” His features, features she had grown to mutually hate and appreciate, were made bolder with her new spectacles. The vision clarity seemed to increase everything around her. When she saw the thing better, she felt more strongly. It was an illusion, but not one she was immune to. 

“Come back to bed with me,” he said, touching her hair again, “You will be leaving me as well.” 

She forced herself to smile over the fear gurgling in her gut. Was this her last moment to see Meika? Would she be taken away without seeing him a final time. How had she neglected to look over his face and memorize his features? How had she neglected to hold him as tightly as she could knowing that any time could be her last time? 

She remained melancholic and distracted the rest of her evening. The morning brought a guard to their door. 

Auguste did as he had promised. He dressed her in fine traveling clothes, jewels secreted throughout them. Hardy shoes to beat their way through the sand. He promised a caravan and her utmost comfort. Her trip out of the desert would not be a replaying of her trip into the desert. 

He kissed her lips, and then her brow, “I am giving you this too,” he pressed his most treasured mathematical tome into her hands, then bent and kissed her fingers. 

“Auguste,” She held the book to her and touched his hair, “Auguste, thank you. I know how dear this is to you.” 

“You are more dear. But you must go, the caravan is leaving.” 

“Meika! Please, I want to see him! Please!” 

“There is no time.” 

“Only for a moment, he is my family, please!” 

“No, you cannot. Go.” 

Before she thought better of it she began a flight toward her old rooms where Meika still slept. She did not make it more than a few steps before being apprehended by a guard. He held her gently, but firmly, “Don’t worry about her, Pasha, all women are hysterical before journeys.” 

She was pulled away, away from Meika, and put into an ostentatious tent perched on the back of a camel. She could not help but cry. She felt the cord that had tethered her to the world, the only part that still mattered in this realm, that bound her to Meika, was cut through. 

The guard had nothing but sympathy, “He will miss you too.” He, of course, being Auguste.

She was blind to the city on her way toward the open desert. Those were not the sights that mattered. The only thing that mattered was Meika, and he was gone without even farewell.

She kept waiting for him to chase the caravan down, to pull back the sheets of her tent and embrace her. To hold her and promise her they would see each other again. But she was taken into the wild desert, and Meika did not appear. 

**XXXXX**

There was something about working quietly next to Kimmuriel that made her feel intimately fond of him. They did not speak, nor did he invade her mind. He was far too entranced in his own studies. And for her part, she often forgot he was beside her, so immersed was she in calculations and scribblings. 

They, in fact, said not two words to each other through the whole crest of the day. Both of them forgot to stop working to eat, and it was not until night was deep around them that they realized how long they had worked. And then only when a frowning librarian told them they would have to leave. 

“Oh!” Tega exclaimed, “Is it so late already?” 

While the librarian crossed her arms and glared imposingly at them, Tega scrabbled to get her things back into her bag and hefted the books the had found in her arms.

“Leave them,” the librarian hissed, “You cannot take them out.” 

Tega blushed and nearly dropped them, spilling her bag in her haste. She gasped in embarrassment and stooped to pick up her scattered things. As one, her belongings lifted themselves and placed themselves neatly into her bag. 

She looked up at Kimmuriel thankfully, who looked coolly back, not a whit intimidated by the imposing librarian, all his things put away already. 

He spared her only a moment’s glance before turning on his heel and striding away, leaving her to scurry after him. 

It was a long walk to the only inn which would house a drow. Kimmuriel had taken some convincing to to press a quarrelsome tavernkeeper into letting him sleep somewhere more convenient with psionics. Only Tega’s unhappy frown and gentle reminder that behavior like that might get back to the librarians kept him from it. So instead, they walked quite a distance over uneven streets to an unwholesome little inn that seemed to nearly be tipping into the swamp that stank at its back. 

“This place is filthy,” Kimmuriel sneered in drow in Tega’s ear. 

“What do you suggest then?” she asked. She was even hoping he did have a suggestion. She wanted to sleep in this dirty sty as little as he did. 

“You know my suggestion.” 

He leaned into her as his spoke, and put a long fingered hand upon her waist. Anyone else might have used the excuse that he was trying to make himself heard in the raucous tavern. But Kimmuriel, of course, could make himself heard anywhere. Tega was aware of the human eyes that slid over her, while she was nothing to write home about for an elf, to human eyes she was dainty and fair. And judging by the men in this particular tavern, anything in a skirt would probably have gotten their attention. But Kimmuriel made it clear she was accompanying him and there was not a soul in the tavern brave enough to tousle with a drow. 

“It’s the middle of the night, Kimmuriel, we ought to just stay here. We can try to find somewhere more accommodating in the morning.” 

Kimmuriel scowled for a moment as though screwing up resolve, then swept to the bar, keeping Tega in the wake of his cloak. He held out his hand to drop two coins, enough for a room for each of them. Before they left his fingers Tega felt him slip through her thoughts. Only one coin fell. 

Without a word he was given a single key and, together, they ascended the stairs from the crowded tavern into the marginally quieter upper level. He didn’t speak as he unlocked the door and held it open for her. Nor as he slid it closed after them and clicked the lock home, the frame lighting in brilliant colors for a moment as he locked it with psionics as well. He set down his bag and glowered at the window, which glowed like the door had. 

Together they regarded the single slim bed. After only a moment of awkwardness Kimmuriel ventured, “I believe we have already crossed this particular threshold. I do not believe this constitutes awkwardness we cannot overcome.” 

She set down her bag and laughed, “No, I suppose not.” She regarded the bed closely and wrinkled her nose. “Gods, bedbugs.” 

A litany of drow curses slipped passed Kimmuriel’s lips and his nose wrinkled in distaste even more than hers, “Are you quite certain you do not wish to find alternate accommodations?” 

She bit her lip, “I suppose it wouldn’t be too morally objectionable to just use a little psionics to make them think you’re a surface elf.” 

“It would be objectionable to _me_.” 

She tutted, “Would you rather a few tavern staff thought you were a surface elf or sleep here with the bedbugs and the gods know what else?” 

This decided it, and they very soon took up their bags and found their way into an inn that was not quite so despicable. Tega smiled pleasantly with Kimmuriel, looking to everyone inside as much like a surface elf as she did. 

Not knowing much common or being particularly fluent in elvish, Kimmuriel let Tega take the lead. The innkeeper took no issue with a pair of handsome elves in good clothes and they soon found themselves in a kinder room. One where neither the shouting of a downstairs tavern or the business of a lady of the night could be heard. 

“This is much better,” Tega said, sitting on the plush bed. They hadn’t discussed it, but even without the threat of intruders they had taken only a single room. 

Kimmuriel glared a little at the lamp that was lit on the bedside table, but he didn’t extinguish it. Tega was glad he didn’t, or she would have missed the way a dusky blush rose under his dark skin when he had dug his pajamas out of his bag. 

“Do you want me to turn around?” Tega asked. It was amusing a little, since she had seen him before, but she recognized the difference between a charged stripping to the skin and standing in front of someone changing into bedclothes. 

“I hardly care,” he said, but he waited for her to immerse herself in a book before he began changing. 

He was equally as discrete for her sake, letting her change into her night dress without gawking. He did, however, watch her go about getting ready to sleep in other ways, just as she watched him. 

She had not expected him to plait his long hair before bed, but then, what else would he do to keep it from tangling? She watched it twist itself into a long braid and a ribbon tie itself about the tail. She was so entranced she knotted her own hairpin she had been trying to remove and found herself stuck. 

It was only a hairpin and, of course, if she had done a little finagling behind her head, she would surely have been able to remove it herself, but she was not given the chance. Kimmuriel moved her hands away and slid the pin from her hair, letting his long fingers card through the tangles, straightening them. 

His fingers continued to feel their way through her hair long after the tangle was gone, “Is it customary among your people to keep your hair short as you do?” 

“No,” she answered, “Usually we keep in long, tied in braids with beads.”

“But you prefer it short, for convenience?” 

She smiled and he didn’t stop stroking her hair, “Yes, but also-” He took the invitation for what it was and slid through the thoughts she was presenting for him: Auguste’s hands and lips in her hair, they way it had been brushed through and made to shine. 

He gave back the feeling of understanding. She was sure that was not something he knew how to put into words and even in communicating that small emotional nudge he seemed to hesitate. He dropped his hand from her hair and returned to the bed, stretching out on the side nearest the wall and away from the light. 

She slid under the covers beside him and picked back up the book she had been reading. It was evening so, according to her habit, she had been pursuing a novel rather than material to study. Ten minutes it a tiny prodding intrusion in her thoughts took her out of the story. 

She glanced down at Kimmuriel, who was lying facing away from her, “Kimmuriel?” She asked, voice light and amused, “Are you listening to my novel?” 

He turned and glared, which did nothing but assure her that this had been exactly what he had been doing. 

She remembered in her room in the Bregen D’aerthe how he had leaned into her soft touches, how he had nearly purred. She tentatively lifted a hand off of her book and touched his shoulder, and invitation, not a command. 

Not looking at her, he took it, turning over and laying his head on her thigh. She ran her fingers through the hair that had begun to escape from the braid, scratching her nails gently against his scalp. He closed his eyes and she heard him sigh. 

Out of nowhere, many minutes later when she was again immersed in her book he spoke, “I do not like my hair being pulled.” 

She retracted her hand, “Oh, I’m sorry, was I pulling?” 

“No.” 

She understood him then. This was beginning to tip away from a tryst, one did not read in bed with partner in a tryst, or offer emotionally charged preferences. 

She must have articulated that thought too clearly, for he sat up, the book tugging itself out of her hands to close, her page carefully marked, on the bedside table. He said nothing before he kissed her, gently and close mouthed, his nose bumping softly against her cheek. 

She lifted her hands, one burying into his hair, the other delicately skimming his sharp cheekbone, down his soft skinned neck and over his collarbone. 

He slid his arms around her and drew her down so she lay upon the bed. He pulled back from kissing her and regarded her with clinical curiosity. His expression unmoving and unreadable. He untied the laces on her night dress and slipped it off of her so she lay beneath him entirely undressed. 

His lips parted minutely but his expression did not change. He ran the backs of his fingers down her throat and over her chest. For now, he skimmed past her breast, without touching it, caressing her side and down the inside of her thigh. 

Here she gasped a faint gasp. 

His face was no less calculating when he leaned down to kiss her again, his lips soft on hers, opening his mouth this time and running his tongue along hers. Below, his hand continued to skim. Touching her with only the tips of his fingers. She mewled and her side of the kiss intensified, although his did not, remain slow and methodical. 

She was not idle, she made short work of the buttons on his sleeping shirt and pulled it from his shoulders. She ran her hands down his sides and under the waist of his sleeping pants. His kiss didn’t change, but the fingers at her thigh twitched. Harder for him to control, and easy to discern in only his thin linen pants, was the length of him, hardening and pressing against her. 

She kissed down his jaw and up one long ear, she sucked gently at the sensitive tip and he exhaled, his body shifting against hers. She did it again and he tilted his head to the side to give her better access. He breath was quickening and he wriggled his hips to help her rid him of his sleeping pants. His skin was warm on hers and she liked the way he felt pressing down on her. He was too close now for his physical hands to tease her thighs. 

Instead, they slid along her sides and belly, finding spots that made her sigh. He pulled back once more and stared down at her. 

“It seems we can conduct ourselves with more freedom than that allowed in most encounters among drow.” 

“Do you mean I’m not very likely to stab you?” 

A tiny smile for just a second, “I mean you and I have no need to take actions as signs of hierarchical positions between us.” 

It was taking her a moment to gather her thoughts enough to translate this bit of drow, once she had managed it she replied, “That must be a new experience for you.” 

“Yes.” He went silent and contemplated her. She was familiar with the expression, he was working through something to its logical conclusion. She waited for him to finish. 

Slowly he said, his expression remaining clinical and thoughtful, “I like the way that you smell.” 

She laughed helplessly, “Thank you, Kimmuriel.” 

He furrowed his brow, clearly attempting to communicate something that had been lost either with translation or with his poor ability to discuss emotions. Rather than try again he lowered himself down her body until he could press his lips to her belly. He coaxed her thighs apart.

“Oh!” 

He looked up, eyes sharp, “I am not signifying my submission.” 

She reached down and stroked his hair, “I’m not taking it as submission.” 

He stared at her for a little longer then said, “I enjoy the way you sound when you are pleased.” He said nothing else before he lowered his head and slid his tongue along her, dexterous and hot. 

He didn’t constrict himself to only physically manifested sensations. Blue sparkles of energy alit her and it took only moments before she was crying out and his hand pressed down on her hip to keep her from moving too much. 

“Kimmuriel!” she gasped and clawed at the sheet with her hands. 

She could feel him smile and his pressed his lips and tongue to her, kinetic energy coalescing and entering her. It was not so restricted as anything physical. It was free to twist and press and grow.

She called out wordlessly, her hips moving jerkingly. 

“Kimmuriel-” 

He growled against her and the vibration knocked her over the edge. She whined, her back arching as it sliced through her before collapsing onto the sheets, breathing hard. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking smug, and settled beside her. 

“Do not tell me you are such a scholar that you have been worn out by only that?” he asked teasingly, letting her rest her head on his chest. 

Still out of breath she said, “Hush, as though you are any great athlete.” 

“My physique does not change that you are the smallest female I have yet encountered.” 

She turned her head and kissed his chest softly. He crooned and ran his fingers through her hair. She squirmed a little further down his chest, kissing his skin but hesitated to go any lower. 

He exhaled sharply in annoyance, “You said it was not to be taken as an act of submission and yet you seem unwilling.” 

She sat up and frowned at him, “It isn’t submission, I never said that it was.” 

“You are unwilling to reciprocate.” 

“I am allowed to be unwilling to reciprocate,” she said, not sharply but with an edge. 

He seemed to make an effort not to retort. After a long pause he said in a stiff voice, “Do you have a reason for your reticence or is it complicated surface emotions?” 

“I’m not- I’m not sure how. I’ve never done it before.” She blushed upon admitting it. 

His frown cleared, “I will not begrudge your lapse in ability.” 

Her blush darkened, “Next time, maybe I’ll be more brave.” 

He cocked his head to the side and that fleeting smile curled the very corner of his lips for an instant, “Next time? Do you intend there to be a next time?” 

She blushed even more and he raised his hand to brush a thumb over her darkened cheek, “Well,” she stammered, “We’ll be here a long time won’t we? My research might take months.” While she spoke she moved over him, straddling him as he sat. His hands fell to her waist. 

“Yes,” he assured her, “It will be many weeks of study.” He dropped his head back and gasped almost inaudibly while she kissed and suckled his throat. 

She lifted herself and slowly began coming down onto him, stopping as only his tip breached her, moving her hips teasingly. “Wouldn’t it be agreeable to continue this, Kimmuriel?” 

Psionic hands slid down her lower back and she shivered and rotated her hips until he was a little further into her. His hips jolted and his hands tightened on her waist. 

“To study throughout the day and then retire to an inn room and- “ he struggled here to select the word that he wanted, “- warm each other?” He hesitated when he said it, not happy with the word he had come up with. “With little threat of attack or interruption? That sounds-” he moaned openly as she sunk entirely onto him, “-ideal.” 

She lifted her head and kissed him hungrily while she moved up and down. He jerked and shivered while she moved. With each of her downward thrusts he released a growling moan, their crescendo ending in half shouts. 

Throughout he continued his psionic onslaught, sparking where she was most sensitive until she could not formulate words. 

Moments after she shouted and clenched fearsomely around him he throbbed and twitched within her and called out her name in his voice, made husky by the prolonged growling. 

Both exhausted and sated they fell onto the covers, his arms pulling her flush against him, clinging. There was nothing of his usual chilliness about him, but Tega was too comfortable, too busy nuzzling into his chest to take stock of how odd it was. Not until he brushed his fingers across her back and whispered, soft and unthinking, “I will get your bracelet back from Vierna Do’Urden.”


End file.
